Off Course
by stayathomemum
Summary: Season 5 is interrupted by the arrival of a new client in Angela Bower's life. Tony desperately tries to return things to normal, but can he be triumphant?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Yes, yes, I KNOW that I have to finish Family, but I'm completely stuck. In the interim, I thought I'd loosen up my keyboard with this. Takes place in Season 5, a few weeks after "A Spirited Christmas". The touch of supernatural teased my curiosity. **_

_**Chapter One**_

_**Tuesday**_

That particular Tuesday morning, nothing was amiss. Tony made breakfast for the kids, juice and coffee for Angela and headed out to his morning class. Angela and Mona drove themselves to the train station and took the train into Manhattan, ready to tackle a busy day at the office. The kids trudged unwillingly to their separate schools; Sam to high school and Jonathan to his new Junior High. All was as it always was and everything ran smoothly, the expected exits and entrances observed and obeyed.

The day itself plodded on in a predictable fashion, not unlike the tiny gears inside a well-made Swiss watch. The members of the Bower/Micelli clan went about their routines, strong habits nudging out a deeper awareness of their surroundings. It is the way people function when they do the same thing day in and day out. Mona made her midday escape from the office, leaving her daughter to man the phones in addition to the heavy workload she already had. This happened on a regular basis and was not worth a raised eyebrow or special mention.

At about five o'clock in the afternoon, Angela phoned home to tell Tony that she'd be late for dinner and to please not wait for her. He gave her the usual admonishment before hanging up the phone and serving dinner to the kids and the truant Mona. Tony made a snide remark to Mona about ditching Angela at the office. Mona's standard comeback was a joke at poor workhorse Angela's expense and a quip about her own need for freedom. The kids rolled their eyes and wolfed down their dinners before complaining about homework. Some sentences were spewed out verbatim and could have been cut and pasted from previous evenings. These players in their little sitcomish slice of life performed their roles commendably, unoriginally, and with complete unawareness.

At nine o'clock that evening, Tony expected Angela to return home at any moment. He sat on the sofa, his head reflexively inclined toward the front door, waiting for the sound of her key in the lock. Silence. At about half past nine, he put down his textbook and peered out the front window to check for her arrival. She'd be arriving in a cab, since Mona had borrowed her daughter's Jaguar to return from the train station. From the window, Tony spied only the shrubbery, empty lawn and driveway. He sat back down on the sofa, his left leg bouncing up and down to the anxious rhythm of his nerves. By ten o'clock, he could no longer read his textbook. The kids had turned in for the night and Tony was stifling fatigue along with worry. He phoned The Bower Agency but the answering machine was already switched on for the night.

Tony's concern was slowly turning to worry. When Angela had phoned earlier to say she'd be late for dinner, she hadn't mentioned staying out this late and besides it was a weeknight. The leg bouncing gave way to floor treading, which then evolved into 'caged-lion-like-pacing', from the front door to the kitchen door and back. Then back into the kitchen to check the back window for her arrival, then over to the front window. By twenty to midnight, Tony was in full-blown panic mode.

He saw the beam of headlights shining through the window before hearing the unfamiliar car's quiet engine. Tony threw open the front door in welcome and stepped onto the porch to greet Angela. He peered more closely at the arriving taxi and took a step back when a strange man exited on one side and stepped around to the other. He opened the door and proffered his hand to the passenger inside. Tony squinted in the darkness. A woman's long, shapely legs emerged first, then her hand reaching out to the man's. The rest of her followed, slowly. Angela. The street light illuminated her bright hair, then hit her full in the face. She winced.

"Angela?" Tony asked. So many questions remained unasked in that one word.

"Sorry I'm late," she said to him. She turned to her companion and smiled. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Duro."

"Paolo," the man corrected. He released her hand and gave her a short bow.

"Yes, of course, Paolo." Angela teetered on her high heels and returned his bow, prompting Tony to wonder who the hell was this guy that Angela was bowing down to him.

The question caught in his throat, but before Tony could pose it, Paolo had returned to his cab. It flickered its headlights and slowly rolled down the driveway. Tony gaped after the car, then turned around to gape at Angela's retreating back. He followed her into the house.

"Angela, who was that guy?" he blurted out.

She kicked off her shoes and headed into the kitchen. He followed her. "Tony, that was Paolo Duro. _The_ Paolo Duro!" she said as though her answer was self-explanatory.

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" he asked. He poured her a glass of water and grabbed her saved supper out of the fridge.

"Oh, I'm not hungry. Paolo invited me to dinner."

Tony paused mid-step between the fridge and the microwave. "He took you out?"

"Yes! Tony, this is so exciting. You won't believe how it all happened." She spun on her toes and almost slipped across the linoleum. "Tony, I just landed him tonight!"

"What!?" Sparks of outrage shot out of his nostrils. Fortunately these were invisible. The thought of Angela _landing _any man made him want to tear said man from stem to stern.

"I landed the Paolo Duro account. This is really going to put my agency on the map, internationally. I can't believe my luck. And all because Mother skipped out of work early today," she said, unaware that Tony wasn't following her.

"Huh?"

"If Mother hadn't left work early, I wouldn't have had to look for a cab outside the train station. It was so busy and I couldn't find one. Then he appeared."

"Paolo."

"Yes. He offered me a ride in his cab. I recognized him, of course."

"You're gonna have to fill me in. Excuse my ignorance, but I have no idea who this Paolo Duro is."

"Tony, he's the owner of _**Duro Maio**_. You know, bathing suits, beach cover ups, sunscreens and accessories. That huge company from Brazil. They've been trying to make inroads in the American market for quite some time now, but their daring designs haven't exactly resonated with prudish Americans. Not yet, anyway."

"Not yet?"

"I introduced myself to him in the taxi—told him all about The Bower Agency. His disappointing foray into the American market has been all over _Business News_; the ad agencies have been hounding him. And to think, I ended up in his cab today! Must be fate, Tony. It must be."

"What, and he agreed to use your agency? Just like that, after a cab ride? What about all the other agencies?" he pressed.

"Not just a cab ride. He showed me his American offices, then invited me to _La Fleur_ for an impromptu business dinner. Paolo couldn't get enough of my ideas. As for the other agencies, he found them all cookie-cutter and impersonal. He liked my ideas, Tony. I… I never thought I'd get an international campaign so soon. I just can't believe it. You know what this means, don't you?"

Tony shook his head, so she continued in a whirlwind of excitement, babbling about international markets, making _**Duro Maio**_ a household name in the U.S. and how The Bower Agency would be taking on new challenges and expanding its horizons. Tony tuned out when she began spewing statistics and monetary forecasts. He was humbled by the glow on her face, and the successful future she envisioned for her agency. He was happy but also sad and didn't know why.

"That's great, Angela. That's really terrific." Tony forced a smile and patted Angela's shoulder to bring her back to earth.

"It really is. You know, Tony, you shouldn't have waited up. Don't you have an early class tomorrow? It's late."

"Yeah, it's late alright. I'm gonna head up to bed then. Good night," he said. He stopped in the doorway, before exiting the kitchen and turned to look at her one last time. He admired the slope of her elegant neck and the unconsciously feminine movements when she stretched and ran her hands through her hair. She shed her blazer and with it, her professional ad exec persona. She looked up at him in surprise.

"What is it, Tony? Did you forget something?" she asked him in her 'at home' voice. He preferred hearing her like this, her speech a few notes higher and lighter than her working voice. While he appreciated the confidence in the latter, it also intimidated him. The higher, sweeter tones she used at home appealed to the protector in him, and right now he was feeling particularly protective of her.

"No, uh, I just wanted to wish you good night. And, um, congratulations on your new account. You did good, Ang." His lips raised in a half smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Good night, Tony. Again." Angela picked up her blazer and switched off the kitchen light. She hummed a soft tune to herself and smiled. Paolo Duro was a charming and savvy businessman. She'd never had a client from Brazil before. His mannerisms were so different than what she was accustomed to. This was a change, a big one and Angela was going to ensure that it be successful.

Tony closed his bedroom door and heard Angela's close a few moments later. She was at home and safe for now. But his spirit was perturbed nonetheless. He'd had this same strange feeling of cosmic confusion over Christmas a few weeks back when the family had visited Mona's brother, Archie. He'd felt like a puppet, or a character in a play, being fed his lines. And now … well now Tony felt his entire world make a dizzying sharp turn, rejecting its previous trajectory. He fell into a shallow, troubled sleep, Paolo Duro's steely eyes shining menacingly in his dreams. Images flashed before his eyes: tie-dyed T-shirts, Angela punching a stand-up comedian, then even more nonsensical, a sensual picture of Mona donning the cover of a magazine, himself singing with Frank Sinatra, Jonathan kissing a tall girl, and Samantha being drunk. The images whirled in his twilight, teasing him with their near existence. Tony reached out to grab the one of Angela punching a man. He intuitively knew that this was his fault. He put out his hands and the images dissolved. They would never exist now. For the arrival of Paolo Duro in Angela Bower's life had just taken them all off course.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Wednesday**

"Paolo Duro," Tony muttered under his breath. He was beating the eggs with more ferocity than usual that morning. Not sleeping the night before wasn't helping his mood one bit. Other than fatigue related grumpiness, he continued to have the impression of something being amiss. He felt it in the pit of his gut but could not name the sensation, nor its cause, except that it had something to do with Paolo Duro, Angela's new Brazilian client. Tony had barely glimpsed him on the driveway, yet the preternatural implications of that brief meeting vibrated within his unconscious awareness. The disturbing and vivid imagery from his dreams followed him, hanging over his head like a dark storm cloud.

"Good morning." Angela sauntered into the kitchen with too much grace and poise so early in the morning. Tony grumbled in reply.

"I put out your juice and coffee Angela," he said without looking at her.

"You know, I think I'm going to have some of those eggs you're making," she replied.

Tony turned around to look at her. Angela never ate eggs on a weekday morning. Ever. Sometimes she nibbled on a piece of toast, or indulged in the occasional 'Air Jemima', but the kids' scrambled eggs? No. "You … you're gonna have some of _these_ eggs?" he asked her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"If that's alright with you," she replied, unsure now. Angela had to remind herself that she was in her own kitchen after all, and that said eggs had been purchased with her money by her employee, who at the moment was holding her egg whisk up in the air, unaware that mucous-y drippings were falling onto his jeans and shoes.

"Tony, the whisk is dripping on you," she cried out in alarm. He tossed the whisk back into the bowl and turned his back to her, beating the eggs even harder. He poured the egg mixture onto the already heated frying pan and took deep breaths to steady himself. 'This is no big deal—so what if Angela wants eggs?' he told himself. 'Relax Micelli.' Tony ignored the tremor than crept through his shoulders and divided the eggs into three plates. He'd give Angela his own portion.

"Hungry this morning?" he asked with forced nonchalance.

"I guess I am. So much to do today. Paolo is coming by the agency this morning to meet Jack and discuss his campaign," she said. Her eyes were bright with anticipation and she thrummed her toe against the leg of the table.

"Seeing him again so soon?"

"Well yes, he is my new account after all. We didn't cover half of what I wanted to in the cab or over dinner last night. This account is huge, Tony! The biggest that The Bower Agency has landed up until now, and international to boot!"

"That's great, Angela, just great. I'm, er, really proud of you." The words felt like nettles on his tongue.

"Tony, are you alright? You seem a bit … I don't know … unlike yourself this morning."

"I didn't sleep so great last night. Had some really weird dreams too." Tony poured himself some coffee and sat beside her at the kitchen table, something he never did in the mornings. He usually wolfed down food while he prepared it, never actually sitting down to breakfast.

"Oh, what kind of dreams?" Angela took a bite of her scrambled eggs and chased it down with coffee.

"I dreamt, ha ha, that I got to sing with Frank Sinatra," he said.

"That sounds like a dream come true for you," she said with a smile. "Not the kind of dream to give you a poor night's sleep."

"It wasn't just that. My dreams were so vivid—I mean I could see them, Angela. I dreamt that you punched out some performer. You were so angry with him."

"As if I would ever do that, Tony! It wasn't Frank Sinatra, I hope."

"No, he looked like a stand-up comedian. Then, Mona was on the cover of a magazine and Samantha was drunk and …"Tony stopped mid-sentence and looked up at Angela. She had a quizzical expression on her face. "Never mind, it was just a bunch of crazy dreams," he finished.

"They do sound a bit strange, but dreams tend to be weird like that." Angela wiped her mouth and carried her cup and plate to the kitchen counter. "I've got to get Mother, she's late. Lots to do today with Paolo's visit. I hope he doesn't find The Bower Agency too small to support his business needs. I need to project an aura of success."

"Yeah well, you still have that expresso machine, don't you?" he teased her. Tony desperately wanted to lighten the mood. The oppressive dark cloud of his dreams was still tethered to him.

"I do. Please kiss the kids goodbye for me; I can't wait for them to come downstairs. I'll see you tonight. Bye." Angela swept out the door in a flurry of energetic haste.

"Bye Angela."

**Thursday**

"Tony, could you please set an extra place at the table tonight?" Angela was calling Tony from the office late Thursday afternoon.

"Oh, for who?" he asked, though he knew.

"Paolo. We have a lot of work to do and he wants meet my family. Hope it's not much trouble on such short notice."

"No, no trouble at all," Tony replied, clenching the receiver in his fist. "There's plenty of food. I'm making lasagne."

"Thank you, Tony. You're the best. I can always count on you at the last minute."

Tony wanted to reply but Angela had already hung up. He sighed in frustration and tackled dinner. Angela brought clients home regularly and Tony was accustomed to preparing elaborate dishes to impress. He usually received more than two hours of notice though. For the rest of the afternoon, Tony chopped, sautéed, stirred, prepared and baked. He made appetizers from scratch, ran to the liquor store for a bottle of good red while the lasagne was baking and cleaned up the mess he'd just made in the kitchen. He was sweating and his T-shirt was splattered with an assortment of food stains when he heard Angela's key in the front door.

"And this is my home," he heard Angela say from his vantage point behind the kitchen door. She was holding out her right arm as though demonstrating a potential product.

Tony grabbed at his sweaty, stained T-shirt and sighed. He studied Paolo Duro; the man's dark eyes scanned the living room, eyeing every piece of furniture as though it were beneath him, while spewing shallow compliments. Slush and mud footprints followed his gleaming black shoes to the sofa. He sat, taking up two spaces. Tony wanted to strangle him, for he'd just vacuumed and mopped the floor that morning.

"Tony? I'm home! Tony?" Angela called out.

Tony did what was expected of him. He threw on an apron to hide the worst of the food stains, piled a silver tray with hors d'oeuvres and presented them to his boss and her guest. "I just decanted a bottle of red and it's breathin' in the kitchen," he said. "In the meantime, could I prepare you both some drinks? Martinis perhaps?"

Paolo stared at Tony, confusion evident in his onyx eyes. "Hello Mr. Bower. My name is Paolo Duro. It's a pleasure to meet you." Paolo stood, pulling himself up to his full height of six foot four. He stuck out his hand but Tony was holding the appetizer tray and could only nod.

"My name is Tony Micelli. I work for Angela, Mr. Duro."

"Yes Paolo meet Tony. Tony meet Paolo," Angela stated, somewhat breathless. It wasn't the first time that Tony had been mistaken for her husband. She purposefully did not introduce him as her housekeeper because her gut told her not to. "Please, have an appetizer. They look wonderful." Changing the subject seemed like a good idea now.

"Do you work at the Bower Agency, Tony?" Paolo pressed. He popped an hors d'oeuvre into his mouth and chewed it noisily.

"Uh no, no he doesn't," Angela answered.

"I'm Angela's housekeeper." The words were a challenge, casually flung over the tray of bacon-wrapped-dates, stuffed mushrooms and blue cheese tartlets.

Paolo began coughing, his stuffed mushroom catching in his throat. "You are the maid?" He sputtered out between coughs.

"That's right, I'm the … maid." Tony wanted to smirk. Angela's new client was clearly shocked.

"Ha, ha, we don't call him that, Paolo," Angela cut in. "Tony is so much more than a housekeeper." She looked at Tony fondly and smiled.

"I see," said Paolo, clearing his throat. He took a step away from Angela and stared down his beakish nose at her. "Obviously there is much I need to learn about American customs."

Angela froze. She knew what Paolo was thinking and she wanted to dispel any erroneous notions he might have about Tony's role in her home but something in his closed off expression gave her pause.

Instead she asked, "Tony, where are the children?"

"Upstairs. Yo, Samantha, Jonathan. Dinner's ready!" he shouted up the staircase.

"Children?" Paolo digested the new piece of information. "You have children together with your maid?"

"No, no, of course not," Angela sputtered. "We each have a child from a previous marriage." As Angela was talking, the children materialized on the staircase.

"Children, this is Mr. Paolo Duro, my new client. He's from Brazil. Paolo, this is my son Jonathan and this is Tony's daughter, Samantha."

Paolo nodded at Jonathan and gaped at Sam. "You are very beautiful," he told her then gave her a small bow.

Samantha blushed and awkwardly bowed back. Tony blanched. The way Paolo was staring at his sixteen-year-old daughter made his stomach churn.

"Dinner's ready," Tony repeated. "This way Mr. Duro." Tony stood between his daughter and Paolo, blocking the man's view of Sam. He opened the dining room door and ushered everybody in.

Throughout dinner, Paolo regaled the family with high tales of his adventures in Rio, his success, wealth and cleverness. Angela and Samantha were hanging on his every word, and Paolo directed all of his attention to them. He ignored Jonathan, and only spoke to Tony when he wanted his glass of wine refilled.

"Rio sounds so amazing," said Sam, eyes dreamy. "The beaches, the sunshine, and that Carnival you were telling us about! I'll bet that's a lot of fun."

"Brazil is the best country in the world," declared Paolo. "Angela will have to tell you all about it when she returns."

"What?" Tony gasped.

"Oh, oh yes, I was going to tell you all tonight," Angela began. "Paolo has invited me to tour his Brazilian offices next week. The Carnival will be on, and I want to use it as part of my campaign. We're going to cross into the U.S. market with a 'taste of Brazil' and promote the bathing suits with the colour, beat and spectacle of the Carnival. _Duro Maio_ will evoke beaches in Rio, glamour, sunshine and …"

"Raw sexuality," Paolo finished for her. He turned his ardent gaze toward her and raised his glass of refilled wine. "I am very happy that asked you to share my taxi. It was fate, Bela."

Tony shuddered and accidentally knocked over his wine glass. The harsh red stains stood out starkly on the white tablecloth. A wave of nausea hit Tony in the gut and he staggered back. He couldn't let Angela go to Brazil alone with Paolo—he felt it in the deepest recesses of his being.

"Ya know, Ang," he said as casually as he could. "Spring break is next week. I, uh, could really use a few days on the beach. Mind if I tag along?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They flew to Rio on Paolo's private jet. Tony had managed to wrangle himself an invitation, much to Paolo's dismay. The fact that Angela's business trip coincided with Ridgemont's Winter Break was a coincidence too perfect to pass up. Tony really did need some R&R, but more importantly, he wanted to keep an eye on his best friend. There had been some finagling where the children were concerned. Tony and Angela had never been away at the same time, and Angela was concerned about Mona's supervisory skills. Tony would not budge—he knew that his sixteen year old daughter was quite capable of getting herself to school and back without too much ado. As for thirteen year old Jonathan, he was prematurely responsible, a young fogey. The kid took a briefcase to school for god sakes. Tony slammed Angela's concerns that her mother wouldn't be a productive employee during their absence by reminding Angela that Mona was never a productive employee anyway. Having used every trick in the book, (solid arguments, prompting the children to promise to be on their best behaviour, citing schoolwork stress) he seemed to be making some headway. What swayed Angela in the end, was a simple declaration of friendship. Tony told her that he wanted to spend some time with his best friend, and if he could soak up a few rays at the same time, then so be it. Angela's argumentative armor had caved beneath Tony's beseeching brown eyes and she'd acquiesced with a slight nod of her head and a shy smile directed to the floor. In his relief, Tony had kissed her cheek, surprising both of them. He would never forget the heat of her flushed cheek beneath his lips and the startled little gasp that had caught in the back of her throat.

Now, high up in the air, Tony kept to himself in a quiet corner of the jet. Angela and Paolo were looking at files together, even on this short flight. Tony wondered why they couldn't simply wait until they landed, but he knew that Angela's restless energy and creative drive could not be silenced, especially when she was practically leaping out of skin about their destination. Neither she nor Tony had ever been to Brazil. The most exotic place he'd ever been to was Mexico a couple of years earlier, when the entire family had gone. Prior to meeting Angela, Tony hadn't even left American soil.

He waved the stewardess over and asked for another drink. The sight of Paolo's dark head hanging over Angela's slight frame made Tony uneasy. Everything about the _Duro Maio_ campaign made him uneasy. Tony readily acknowledged to himself that he'd overreacted when Angela had hired Jack a few months earlier. It embarrassed him to think that he'd had any reason for such intense jealousy. Angela and Jack? As if. He shook his head and took another sip of his sherry. With Paolo Duro, it wasn't jealousy per se. It had started with those disturbing dreams on the night he'd first seen the new client on the driveway. Everything about Paolo screamed danger to Tony, yet there was no concrete evidence to back him up, other than his one leering glance at Samantha. Paolo was a well-mannered and considerate client. He didn't overwork Angela—she dove into the work headfirst. He wasn't terribly demanding and seemed to genuinely appreciate her ideas. He had been nothing but complimentary on Tony's cooking, though politely baffled by Tony's title of 'maid' and his oddly close relationship to Angela. Upon learning that Tony would be joining them in Brazil, he'd been unable to hide his surprise. His curled fingers and deep pout had hinted at his consternation concerning this unexpected guest but he'd remained polite about it.

"Please fasten your seatbelts," the captain commanded them over the small loudspeaker. "We'll be landing momentarily." Angela returned to her seat beside Tony's and dutifully sat down. The stewardess piled the _Duro Maio_ papers and tidied them into a neat pile in the overhead bin. Paolo ignored the captain and chose this time to use the restroom, earning him an irate glance from the stewardess, but no admonishment.

"This is so exciting," Angela said. She leaned over Tony to look through the window. "Oh my god, there it is!" she squealed in delight.

Tony followed her eyes and smiled. _Christ the Redeemer_ was welcoming them to Rio, his arms wide and inviting. A low cloud circled the statue's head adding to its mystical majesty.

"Whoa, look at the size of that statue. It's the biggest Jesus I've ever seen," Tony gasped. "Looks like He could pluck this airplane outta the sky."

"Amazing. And the beach. Oh my goodness, look at that water, Tony!" The large expanse of blue water shimmered and sparkled in the sun, lapping at the smooth white sand.

Tony looked on approvingly. "Our hotel is right on Copacabana Beach, Angela. I hope you'll take some time to have an actual vacation while we're here, and not work all the time."

"Of course she's going to have a vacation," Paolo announced as he exited the bathroom and returned to his seat. "We're in Brazil now!" He turned his obsidian-like eyes toward Angela and studied her. "You'll be my guest," he said.

"Um, thank you," she replied. Wasn't this already implied, she wondered. The way Paolo was staring at her made her squirm in her leather seat. "You'll have to give me the grand tour of your offices," she said.

"But of course. I would also like you to be my personal guest, Angela." Paolo focused his whole gaze on Angela. He did not include Tony in his invitation.

"Your personal guest?" she asked, unable to tear herself away from the intensity of his stare. Her dark eyes met his darker ones and widened in apprehension. Tony's hand came to rest on the small of her back and stayed there, solid and warm.

"Yes. My house overlooks this magnificent beach." Paolo pointed to the view outside the window. "It is a large home and there is plenty of room for you there." Again, he ignored Tony.

Angela balked. There had been no previous mention of staying in Paolo's home. She and Tony had booked themselves an ocean view deluxe suite at the Marriott in Rio de Janeiro. The hotel was literally on Copacabana beach and also offered a complimentary breakfast. Angela loved complimentary hotel breakfasts—it was the only time she truly indulged in pancakes, sausages and little croissants. Besides, Tony had made such a fuss about specifically reserving a suite. Even though it meant that he'd be sleeping on a sofa bed in the suite's common area, while Angela had the bedroom to herself. Angela had suggested two separate rooms, next door to each other, but Tony had insisted on the shared suite and uncomfortable sofa bed. Right now, his hand pressed harder into her lower back and he muttered quietly while shaking his head. "We have the suite booked, Angela," he reminded her under his breath.

"My home office is where I keep most of my important documents," Paolo continued. "It will be comfortable and practical for you to lodge in my house. You'll have your own ensuite, of course, and _full maid service_." His eyes shifted to Tony, then back to Angela.

"I … I couldn't," Angela stammered. "Thank you very much for the offer, but I already made reservations at the Marriott. I can't cancel without giving them forty-eight hours' notice."

"Tony will stay at the Marriott," Paolo decided. "You only booked one suite." So Paolo had been listening.

"And you will stay with me, at my villa. I will be offended if you do not accept my hospitality." Paolo bowed his head and worked his features into a sad state of rejection. "Please come as my guest, Angela. My driver will take us to the offices in the mornings, then back to my home at noon for the big meal. Unlike you Americans, we Brazilians eat our most important meal at midday. Dora, my cook makes the best feijoada you will ever taste. If you stay at the hotel, you will miss these important meals and probably eat a sandwich at your desk." Angela's penchant for wolfing down sandwiches at her desk had horrified Paolo and he'd let her know it. "We must eat together, because that is when we can best discuss the campaign."

"Um, uh, well, that's …" Angela hummed and hawed, unsure how to respond.

"I am your client and I am making a request. I have brought you on my private jet and even allowed you to bring your _maid_ for his vacation. In the interest of my company and your advertising campaign, I must insist that you stay with me at my villa." Paolo's smile disappeared into a thin harsh line.

Angela nodded quietly. Her heart fluttered wildly but she knew that she had to acquiesce or risk losing the biggest account of her life.

"Thank you, Paolo. I'd be delighted to be your guest." She cast her eyes over to Tony and bit her lip. His jaw was clenched and the blood had drained from his face. All of his efforts to remain by Angela's side were for naught because Paolo Duro had managed to slither past Tony's defenses.

The plane continued its descent and landed with a sharp jolt. The shimmering ocean and white sands beckoned to them. Tony grasped Angela's fingertips and squeezed them. "I'll be nearby," he told her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Author's Note: A pareo is a rectangular piece of fabric and versatile beach cover up. The wearer can tie it into various styles. They usually come in wonderful designs and colours and can be made to look like full dresses, or simple sarongs. If you check Google Images, you'll see exactly what they look like and how they're worn. _

Tony was unable to reach Angela. Ensconced at his luxury suite at the Marriott, he was completely on his own. Upon landing at the private airport, Paolo's limousine had picked them up and dropped Tony off at his hotel, before continuing on with Paolo and Angela. Tony had stood there, hand held out, waiting for a slip of paper with Paolo's home number on it, but none had been forthcoming.

"How will I reach you?" he'd shouted after the slowly departing limo. Through the small slit in the window, Paolo had merely smiled and waved. Tony felt a deep instinctive fear as the limo disappeared from view. He and Angela were separated and he couldn't find her. With the concierge's assistance, he'd tried to locate Paolo's home phone number but the man was unlisted. He'd called the _Duro Maio_ offices repeatedly, but the receptionist wouldn't take any new messages from him. She already had quite a stack of little yellow papers on her desk, and her boss knew about them.

Instead of enjoying the magnificent beach at his doorstep, the vibrant city centre, or the culturally stylish cafes, Tony paced in his hotel room. For his first twenty-four hours in Rio, he ordered room service and waited by the phone, watching the carefree beachgoers from his ocean view window.

Conversely, Angela's first day was filled with non-stop activity. After arriving at Paolo's home (which was a seven thousand square foot mansion, complete with its own swimming pool, stables and detached servant's quarters), she was thrown head first into Brazilian culture, beginning with a meal that she couldn't begin to describe. The cook, Dora, placed plate after plate of unfamiliar, rich foods. A thick yellow fishy curry turned her stomach but Angela forced herself to take a few bites and say, "yum". This rich fare was followed by an even thicker black bean stew. Angela peered at the sausages floating in her dish and stoically speared one with her fork, then raised her eyebrows in pleased surprise. "This is delicious."

"It is Dora's specialty, her _fejoada_," Paolo explained. "It is the best dish in all of Brazil," he enthused while gulping down another generous spoonful. "Come on, eat, _comer, comer_," Paolo encouraged her. He piled some warm crusty bread on her plate and poured her more red wine.

"Aren't we going to be working this afternoon?" Angela had observed Paolo drink glass after glass of wine and she wondered at his ability to conduct business.

"Yes, of course," he replied, nonplussed. He pushed the full wine glass at her and nodded. "We will work in the home office today, so it is not too tiring for you. No_ praia_ for us today, but perhaps tomorrow?" Angela nodded, relieved that she wouldn't have to squeeze into her bathing suit after such an enormous meal. She wondered what Tony was up to and decided that she needed to call him at the hotel.

"May I use your phone please?" she asked her host.

"During our meal?" he asked, offended. "Your phone call can wait. First, you must have Dora's _Crème de Papaya _and a strong coffee. That will clear your palate and your head." Before Angela could protest, Dora was clearing dishes, reappearing with coffee and dessert. Her stout, thick body hovered over Angela like a benevolent warden, never letting her out of her chair. After what seemed like eons at the table, Dora declared the meal to be over and began clearing the table. Angela wondered if she was allowed to stand. She awaited instruction, so worried about upsetting her host again.

"Come to my home office; I have something to show you." Paolo pulled out Angela's chair and casually gripped his fingers round her upper arm to guide her. They crossed several magnificent rooms, including what appeared to be a ball room and a full sized library.

"Your home is impressive," she told him, unable to hide her awe.

"That is what I told you on the plane. And here is my home office. I possess the one and only key to this room. Few are invited inside." His dark eyes alight with a manic excitement, he gently pushed her through the thick mahogany door and shut it behind them, then locked the door from the inside. He was delighted by Angela's wide eyed surveillance of the large, expensively furnished room. He watched as her eyes swept over the Persian rugs, stained glass windows and antique French furniture. He felt a flutter of desire when her lips popped open in surprise. She'd noticed his _muro_, the wall of fame behind his desk. Paolo revelled in his own ego as Angela admired the wall of framed photos showcasing his most celebrated creations, worn by models on the local runaways of Brazil.

Paolo personally designed every bathing suit and cover up. He had started his career as a fashion designer some twenty-five years earlier when bikinis were gaining mainstream popularity. Paolo's bikinis were unlike anything the world had seen up to that point. His were not the industrial strength, belly button covering, pointy-breasted bikinis of _Beach Blanket Bingo._ No. Paolo had flare and imagination and he loved the female body. His bikinis plunged below the naval, cut high up the thigh and dipped low over secret mounds of female flesh. They showcased round behinds, lifted tired breasts, lengthened legs and dared the wearer to reveal more of herself than had yet been sanctioned by current norms and mores. Using unusual materials and colour combinations, the _Duro Maio_ stood out as a unique work of art. A woman who could both afford one and be brave enough to strut it on the beach, was referred to as a 'Duro Beleza'. The term had been coined by the locals and Paolo's success had directly benefitted from this free 'marketing campaign'. Realizing that money was to be made, serious money, Paolo had gone into business with a distant cousin, a man who ran a successful jewellery store. Their combined merchandise and brain power had resulted in a company whose new beach accessories attracted an entirely new clientele. Older, wealthy women were quite happy to purchase elegant cover-ups, and the semi-precious beach jewels to match. The bikinis, they would leave to their granddaughters, but the beach sandals, eminently practical beach bags and intricately designed pareos became the lifeblood of his company. Paolo's recent forays into the American market had been unsuccessful because he'd tried to modify his designs for the American woman. He'd second guessed himself and made changes to existing designs, reducing them to the likes found in the neon-lit, crowded bathing suit racks at Sears. Angela Bower had shown him the error of his ways, and while it hadn't been easy listening to a mere woman tell him what to do, he knew that it was the American woman's opinion that would help him realize his dreams. In the end, he'd chosen The Bower Agency because of the elegant owner at its helm. He'd never worked with women, beyond ordering Dora around the kitchen, or tapping into his ever growing secretarial pool. Paolo was by definition, a male chauvinist. Hiring Angela Bower went against his very nature. To him, women were intellectually inferior, weak, prone to emotional outbursts, and their place was in the kitchen and nursery. None of these prejudices was true about Angela Bower, however, and Paolo had to admit a certain attraction to the decisive independent blond. It caught him by surprise because both of his ex-wives and all of his former lovers had been voluptuous, old-fashioned girls with vacuous stares. He glanced over at his newly acquired worker and nodded appreciatively. She would do, yes she would do.

"I see you like my designs," he said.

"These photos are wonderful, Paolo. I especially love this deep blue cover up. The gold edging and tiny fish embroidered throughout remind me of a magnificent aquarium filled with goldfish."

"It is yours." Paolo crossed the room and pushed aside a large painting, revealing a safe. He opened it, shuffled through layers of material and pulled out the pareo that Angela had been admiring.

"Please, for you."

"For me?" Angela gasped. She watched as Paolo unwrapped the tissue paper surrounding the filament-like material. "But, it's one of your original creations." She took a step toward him and hesitated before the proffered item. "It must be worth a fortune. It's your original design! Do you have a copy?"

"No copies. This is an original. Is it your favourite from all the photos you see?"

"Well yes, but I was thinking that maybe we could use that design for our ad …"

Paolo cut her off. "I give it to you, Angela. It is a gift. You must accept it, and wear it. It belongs on a beautiful woman such as yourself."

Paolo handed her the pareo and bowed slightly. He smiled at Angela's confused pleasure. He loved catching her off guard, as he'd done on the airplane when he'd invited her to stay at his home. Seeing her man-maid's horrified expression had added to Paolo's pleasure, and leaving the bewildered man stranded at the Marriot without Angela had been the final coup. He'd almost burst out laughing, but of course had had to retain a semblance of professionalism in front of Angela Bower. Paolo wondered if Angela and her man-maid were lovers. The mere fact that this woman owned an advertising agency and had a man for a maid was a concept that Paolo had trouble getting his head around. And they were raising their children together? He didn't quite understand that either. Dora had children but they certainly didn't live inside the house. They stayed in the staff quarters, and he never saw them. If one of the impudent snot-nosed brats ever dared enter his home, there'd be hell to pay. Nothing about Angela Bower made sense, and it irked him. He smoothed his fingers over his thick mustache and pondered the enigma that she presented.

"Each pareo has a matching bikini," he told her. This he understood, outfitting women. He could already envision how the gold, orange and blue of his design would enhance the warm hue of her dark eyes and flatter her skin tone. And the high cut bikini briefs would make her long legs appear endless. He might not understand the workings of her quick and complex brain, but Paolo knew where he could begin to assert his control—over her body.

XXXX

Unable to stand the confines of his hotel room one moment longer, Tony headed outside, determined to find Angela, somehow. It was his second full day in Brazil and the lure of the deep blue ocean beckoned to him. He figured that a quick dip would clear his head, or at least quell the restless sensation of wanting to punch something. He found himself a spot on the soft white sand and spread out his beach towel. Within moments, a beach vendor was at his side offering to rent him a lawn chair. Tony shook his head, and the man walked away looking quite offended. Tony stood up and stretched. He berated himself for not enjoying the beach prior to now, realizing that it was a much more pleasant pastime than pacing beside his bed. His body felt restless and underused; Tony sprinted to the water's edge and ran in. He splashed about the cool water, letting the salt buoy him up. The ocean invigorated him and gave him new energy and determination to find Angela today. Tony ran back to his towel and was accosted by a second beach vendor, this one selling coconuts. Rather than brush him off, Tony gave the man a few coins and took the coconut, wanting to indulge in something the locals were doing. He'd noticed several other beachgoers drinking the coconut water.

"Bebida coco," the vendor said. "Drink it mister. Eees very good. Afterwards, eat the polpa, uh, pulp. Yes?"

Tony nodded and took a sip. It was delicious. He sat back down on his towel and observed the people around him. An impromptu game of beach volleyball was happening a few yards away, small children were happily digging in the sand with plastic sand toys, young men and women showed off their perfect bodies, flirting with each other in a timeless mating ritual, while athletes jogged along the beach, their darkly tanned muscles gleaming in the sun. He took another gulp of his coconut water, alone on his towel, and noticed a couple nearby. The man and woman were walking toward the water, hand in hand, giggling and teasing each other. A wave of loneliness engulfed him. He needed to find Angela right now.

XXXX

On Angela's second day, Paolo decided that they would visit his offices in the city first thing, then head over to the beach after lunch. Angela inwardly groaned because she wanted to swim before eating the heavy midday meal. Paolo did not notice her unease and proceeded with his plans. Before leaving for the office, Angela decided to call Tony at the Marriott. She used the phone in her bedroom and dialled the hotel's number. Instead of being connected, however, the phone emitted a strange beeping noise. She hung up the receiver and tried again. The same thing happened a second time. Angela headed out of her room to the kitchen, where she knew she'd find Dora.

"Excuse me Dora," she began. "I think the phone in my bedroom is broken. May I use this phone please?" Angela pointed to the kitchen phone.

"Why do you need the phone?" Dora asked her.

The question caught Angela off guard. "I'm trying to call my friend. He's at the Marriott," she explained, somewhat peeved that the cook needed to know her reasons.

"Did Mr. Duro give you the code?" Dora probed.

"Code? What code?"

"The code to make outside phone calls," Dora explained. "If you want to phone outside of the house, you must have the code."

"I don't know the code. Could you input it for me please? I need to call my fr …"

"Não. No code, no phone call for you." Dora turned her back to Angela and continued rolling dough.

"But, I traveled with him, and he doesn't have the number for this house. I need to contact him." Angela was beginning to feel the first pangs of worry.

"Please."

Dora turned around, brushed the flour off her apron and stuck out her chin. "If Mr. Duro has not given you the code, you cannot make a phone call. That is it. Do not ask me, I am the cook."

Angela's eyes widened at the trouble caused by her need to make one phone call. She opened her mouth to protest but closed it again under Dora's disapproving gaze. The two women stood in silent standoff, and when Paolo entered the kitchen, he could sense the tension between them.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked Angela. "We have a lot of work to do today."

"Good morning, Paolo. I was trying to make a phone call, but I don't have the code."

"A phone call, now?" he asked. "My driver is waiting to take us to the office. Your call will have to wait until we arrive there. We must leave now."

"But it would only take me two minutes," she tried.

"Não. My board of directors is waiting to meet you. We must go." Paolo gave her a small shove toward the door, blocking her access to the phone. Angela balked at the threshold, suddenly feeling vulnerable and very alone. She wanted Tony, and she wanted him now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The glass and steel skyscraper seemed not to belong. _Duro Maio_ occupied the top three floors of a massive office tower in the centre of Rio. Its immense height, width and American-style architecture dominated the landscape; the palm trees growing around its perimeter mere overgrown ferns struggling to reach the third floor. Angela maintained a constant vigilance over her surroundings, checking for exits and secluded telephones as Paolo led her through his vast office space. Unlike his home office, his business area was Spartan having only modern and practical furniture. As he escorted Angela to the board room for their meeting with the Board of Directors, she cast furtive glances at the employees, wondering why there were so few women. The women in Paolo's employ were all secretaries or receptionists, and all of the higher positions were occupied by men. It was therefore no surprise to her that by the time they wound their way through the grey corridors to the meeting room, she saw only men waiting around the oval desk. The lone woman in the room was there to take the minutes of the meetings, pour coffee, and hand out the folders. She called the men '_senhor_ so and so', while they referred to her by her given name, Ana.

Angela entered the room with trepidation, feeling like she didn't belong. Five sets of man eyes studied her every move. Paolo pulled a chair out for her and told her to sit down.

The first man to speak was about sixty years of age, sharp and regal in his elegant suit. "Why has _Senhor _Bower sent a secretary in his place?" He'd barely glanced at Angela, except to briefly check out her legs.

An almost imperceptible blush crept up Paolo's cheeks but quickly disappeared into his tanned skin. He would not abide judgement or questioning by his board members. "This is _Senhora_ Bower. She owns the Bower Agency." He said it with as much dignity as he could muster. He had not yet informed his colleagues that the Bower Agency was run by a woman.

"And you are a widow?" asked another man in confusion. "Your husband left you this agency? But who runs it now?"

Still, they did not understand and it baffled Angela, as though she'd time-travelled back to the fifties. "No, I am not a widow. The Bower Agency is mine. I founded it myself." She was tempted to add that even a _mere_ woman could own and operate a business but felt that her opening words had already pushed the envelope. The men were giving each other looks and Ana was staring at her in astonishment.

"Ahem, ahem," Paolo began. He needed to break through the furious whispers and disdainful looks being shot his way. He knew he'd made the right decision and needed to ensure that his men realized it too. Most importantly, he needed to remain in complete control of this meeting. Angela was his discovery and he wanted to expose her as a unique find before his Board of Directors, to show them that he'd found the pulse of the American woman and captured it. "That is right. I hired the Bower Agency because it is our best bet for successfully entering the North American market. Who buys our bathing suits? Esteban?"

Esteban's head shot up; he was the shy one and hated being called out. "_Meninas_?" he replied, unsure of himself.

"No, not _meninas_. We do not sell our bikinis and quality accessories to children," he spat out. "Our target market is women. American women." Paolo let his words sink in for a moment, augmenting the drama of his argument. "And what do I have here with me? Esteban?"

Poor Esteban stared into his coffee cup, wishing he could disappear into the dark, warm brew. "A woman?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes on his coffee.

"Yes, an _American_ woman. A woman who knows the market we are trying to enter. A woman who knows what other women are looking for. A woman who is well educated and intelligent, and very successful." Paolo bowed in Angela's direction, then turned to face his row of men. "Do not question my decisions. This is my company. I have chosen the Bower Agency because it has the best ideas for my campaign. Now, are you ready to hear them?"

Cowed and compliant, the men nodded and gave Angela their full attention. They still couldn't believe that a woman was telling them how it was going to be. Their prejudice was a layer of earwax between Angela's words and their ears, but as she continued to speak, they began to listen. Angela talked about her concept of using the Carnival to introduce _Duro Maio_ to the U.S. She explained how she wanted potential customers to associate Paolo's bikinis and pareos with the flamboyant, exotic and colourful costumes of Carnival. Each bathing suit would have a name and a distinct persona. The showy and daring bikinis would evoke the rhythm, culture and sensuality of Rio. "And we are in current negotiations with EMI Capitol to use copyrighted material, namely the refrain from Duran Duran's song _Rio_." The men gasped at the scope of her advertising campaign.

"Duran Duran?" Ana squealed. She was not to speak during these meetings and was quickly reprimanded.

"Yes Ana," Angela addressed her by name, showing her the respect she deserved. "It will cost a lot, but I can already visualize the ad. A woman dancing on the beach to the _Rio_ song chorus, wearing her _Duro maio_, and as she dances, she's joined by dancers from the Carnival. They dance behind her on the sand in full elaborate costume, then vanish as though she'd dreamt them. Pouf. The woman in the bikini remains on the sand alone, personifying the qualities of the Carnival. She's unique, proud, sexy and beautiful and she will be the face of _Duro Maio_."

* * *

><p>"You impressed them <em>querida<em>," Paola told her when they were alone in his office. Paolo was pumped, his blood coursing through his veins like it had when he was young. Angela's speech had smashed unspoken rules about women's roles in his company but he didn't mind because he had a plan. She was his discovery, his treasure, and as such, her ideas belonged to him now. He cast his black eyes in her direction, admiring her long legs beneath the small table he'd set next to his desk for her.

"I suppose Duran Duran is quite impressive," she replied. Angela knew she'd made some headway with Paolo's Board of Chauvinists, yet still had a long way to go. They'd listened to her concepts but did not treat her as an equal. One silver haired gentleman had had the audacity to ask her out on a date. Fortunately Paolo had intervened. But looking back on the incident, Angela felt a certain foreboding for Paolo's scathing dressing-down of the older man reeked of a power play. The testosterone filled boardroom with its male posturing and lustful gazes intimidated her and became a sore spot. Angela didn't only feel like a member of the opposite sex, she felt like an alien.

"It wasn't Duran Duran," Paolo scoffed. "It was you. You impressed them. And with our campaign, we are going to impress potential customers. It will be successful, Angela. It will be huge, a one hundred million dollar account."

"A hundred million? But when you hired me, you said thirty million."

"And now I say one hundred million. I was being conservative. Have you forgotten how successful I am here in Brazil? I am an empire onto myself." Paolo came to stand before her and held out his hand. "My nickname is _o conquistador_ because I have taken over all of my competitors. I own them all, except for the ones I demolished." A small giggle of glee escaped him and he put his hand to his mouth like an old woman hiding bad teeth.

Angela continued to sit. She knew that Paolo had successfully manoeuvered many mergers over the years. She'd regularly read about him in _Business Weekly_, but the media spin almost always showcased him in a positive light. They called him brilliant and daring, and the mergers were supposedly agreed upon by the smaller companies he'd absorbed. She began to question those articles because it was clear to her that Paolo possessed a deep-seated need for control.

"When I want a thing, I take it," he added. He punctuated his statement with a longing gaze directed at Angela. His eyes lingered longer than was proper on her legs.

She sensed a peculiar shift in their working relationship and faltered before him. He stood above her, a soaring monument onto himself, hawkish nose in the air. The tiny worm of fear wrapped itself around her chest and squeezed.

"You demolished your competitors?" she whispered, aghast. Angela tucked her legs further beneath her tiny desk and wished she hadn't worn a pencil styled skirt. Sitting down hiked it well above her knees and she was keenly aware of Paolo's interest.

"_Sim_. Yes." A smug smile darkened his features. He targeted her delicate pale hand resting lightly on the desk and grasped it in his large tanned one. She looked down at the course black hairs on the back of his fingers and tried to extricate herself from his formidable grip.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

"Stand up," he commanded. "I take your hand, _minha senhora_. I want you to stand with me, beside me. Do you understand?" He pulled Angela up and out of her chair, never loosening his hold on her hand.

"Ok, I'm standing beside you," she said. She managed to slip her now sweaty palm out of his and wiped it on her skirt. She wanted to blast him, to tell him off but he interrupted her before she had the chance to do so.

"Yes, you are beside me. Angela, I have a proposal to make."

"What … what kind of proposal?" Angela forced her voice not to tremble. She had to play it cool and remind herself that this was now a one hundred million dollar account. If her client was into leg staring and hand holding, she needed to remain calm and roll with the punches.

"I want to buy the Bower Agency. It will exclusively create advertising campaigns for _Duro Maio,_ and will be under my direction. You will continue to be its Chief Executive Officer, of course." There, now Paolo could save face, merge a New York advertising agency into his vast company and simply turn it into a profitable department at his beck and call. Angela would work for him. The Board of Directors would respect him again.

"What? But it's not for sale! I'm not selling the Bower Agency." She looked him in the eye and shrank back for they gleamed maniacally. Angela couldn't tell where the pupil ended and the iris began; his eyes were two shiny black pits.

"Ah, but the Bower Agency is what I need," he said. His tone was calm. He grasped her left shoulder and whispered into her ear. "If you do not sell it to me, you will personally come to understand why they call me _o conquistador." _

* * *

><p>The documents were delivered to Angela's bedroom late that evening. After she'd refused to dine with Paolo and holed herself up in her private quarters for hours, Dora brought her a tray with bread, cheese, wine, and Paolo's merger proposal. Angela pointedly ignored the papers, but their presence in her room was stifling. They seemed to be burning a hole in her pillow where she's deposited them in order to pretend not to pay attention to them.<p>

After a fortifying glass of Portuguese red, Angela found her courage and scanned the document, starting with the handwritten note stuck to the front page. It read, "_Dear_ _querida, I am sorry if I have caused you offense. Please read the enclosed documents. I wish to propose a merger between my company and your agency. I want us to be partners because I respect you tremendously and know that together we can be even more successful. I want you by my side. You will be generously rewarded. P" _

Angela read every page, gasping at the sum that Paolo was offering her. It was at least double what the Bower Agency was even worth. She sat down and read more slowly now, outrage giving way to curiosity. His terms were exceedingly generous and she would also benefit from any future gains made by _Duro Maio_, as he was including shares of his own company in the compensation package. She picked up the phone to call her lawyer, then remembered that she didn't have the outside line code. Drat. Angela could have kicked herself for it was occurring to her that she'd forgotten to phone Tony from Paolo's downtown office. She'd been meaning to after the meeting and had even spied the pay phone she planned to use. Unfortunately, after being distracted by Paolo's whispered threats, the pay phone had slipped her mind.

She needed to find Paolo right now and demand the code from him. She was going to call her lawyer, then Tony and then her mother and son. She strode out of her room with determined purpose, but wound up wandered aimlessly about the upper level, unsure where to go. She hesitated on the landing and called out, "Paolo?" Her voice was too quiet in the large, empty villa. "Paolo? Dora?" she said a bit more loudly this time.

Dora appeared as though conjured out of thin air. "Yes Missus Bower. How may I help you?" her English was flawless.

"Oh you're still here, good. Dora, where is Mr. Duro?"

"He is in the pool. It is time for his evening swim. He will exit the pool at midnight and go straight to bed."

"The pool? I need to talk to him right now. I'm just going to head over there …"Dora held out her hand and sputtered something in Portuguese.

"I'm sorry? What was that, Dora?"

"It was nothing. I must go now." Dora shrugged and headed to the servant quarters next door where her two teenagers waited.

Puzzled by the cook's reaction, Angela hugged the documents against her chest and slipped outside toward the swimming pool. The Olympic sized pool resided at a higher elevation than the rest of the garden. From this vantage point, the swimmer had an excellent view of the ocean and the impression that he could swim right out of the chlorinated water and land in the salty waves below. Angela watched Paolo swim lengths in the semi darkness, his trim long body perfectly executing a textbook crawl. The outdoor light didn't produce much in way of illumination but she could see flashes of him as he raised his head to the side for breath.

"Ahem!" she tried to get his attention by waving at him but he didn't see her. After several minutes of this, Angela plopped herself down on a lounging chair and waited for him to finish his exercise regimen. She closed her eyes and tried to find peace but it eluded her. If she told Paolo no to his merger, he would most likely withdraw his entire account and take it elsewhere. Angela would lose the largest account of her career since founding the Bower Agency and lose her foot in the international market as well. Conversely, if she agreed to the merger, the Bower Agency would become a subsidiary of Paolo's larger company. While the drafted proposal did contain a clause allowing her to keep her existing clients, Paolo wanted her to refrain from attracting new clientele unless he specifically approved it. She was also to devote the majority of her time and resources to his products and only work on other approved clients as he saw fit. Then again, the amount of money he was offering her was much more than what she'd expected. Angela was truly torn. During times like this, she counted on Tony to be her sounding board. More than once, he'd helped steer her in the right direction.

"Angela!" Paolo interrupted her thoughts. He was treading water in the pool, suddenly aware of her presence.

"Beautiful night for a swim," she said. "I've been reading your merger proposal and there are some things we need to discuss."

"Such as?" Paolo began swimming toward the shallow end.

"Why don't we wait until you're out and dried off? In the meantime, I must phone my lawyer. What is the code for dialling an outside line?" She planned on calling Tony too.

"At midnight? It is doubtful that your lawyer will be taking your call," he said.

"Right, but if you could still give me the code, then I can call him first thing in the morning," she tried.

"This can wait until tomorrow morning. I would also be happy to speak with your lawyer." Paolo stood in waist deep water as though deliberating something. He nodded to himself, smirked, then exited the pool and stood before Angela. "Could you please hand me my towel? You are sitting on it."

"Oh sorry … here you … oh my … oh, oh, Paolo!" Angela threw the towel at him and averted her eyes for he was completely nude. Initially, in the semi-darkness, she thought he was wearing trunks but said trunks were in fact an abundant forest of pubic hair.

"Do not be embarrassed on my account. I always swim nude. It is fine." Paolo became turned on by Angela's ingénue reaction. "You may look at me now."

Angela turned around and slowly opened her eyes then screwed them tightly shut again. "You're still naked," she gasped.

"Indeed. As you were saying before, it is a beautiful night for a swim. I was hoping you could join me."

* * *

><p>Tony was beside himself. He'd called Mona but she hadn't heard from Angela either. Fortunately, she had a file with client information on Paolo Duro and gave Tony everything she had. There was one Brazilian address labeled 'home office'. It was late now but Tony had every intention of taking a taxi to Paolo's 'home office' the next day. The gnawing sense of impending doom was growing hourly and he couldn't stop fretting about Angela. He felt that she was in danger and his sense of helplessness was driving him to the edge.<p>

"I'm gonna find you tomorrow, Angela. I promise. I promise," he whispered to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Angela, please come out. I am sorry if I have caused you offense," Paolo called through her locked bedroom door, his tone as sweet and thick as icing on a cake, and as nauseating.

Angela paced beside her bed and anxiously threaded her fingers through her hair, wondering what to do next. She felt caged in her spacious room and didn't dare venture out, not when Paolo was breathing down her door. She still couldn't believe that Paolo had exposed himself to her, his calculated nonchalance masking something deeper, something vile. How badly she wanted to leave this luxury villa and find Tony. And yet she could not, for it was after midnight, her tormenter and jailer was at her doorstep and there was no way to call out of the house. Angela wanted to scream from both frustration and fear. Was any account worth this much trouble, she wondered.

Unable to stand the feeling of being trapped by a horny client, Angela decided to take matters into her own hands. Concluding that the element of surprise had its advantages (she herself was continuously caught off guard by Paolo's 'surprises'), she threw her bedroom door open with as much force as she could muster. The heavy wooden door frame slammed into Paolo's beakish nose, hard.

"I want to leave!"

"_Querida, querida_," he said, still in those sickening sweet tones that grated on Angela's nerves. "_Sinto muito_, I am very sorry. I only thought to give you use of my magnificent pool. I always swim in the nude because this is my very private place and I am accustomed to my own company."

"I know all about your _private places_, Paolo. And I'd like to leave, now! Please call me a taxi. I'm going to my room at the Marriott."

"Pft, the Marriott. Where you would share a suite with your man-maid?" Paolo blew air out of his mouth and harrumphed.

"With Tony, my friend," she corrected him.

"Yes, I understand that he is … your friend." Paolo brushed past her, knocking her somewhat off balance, both physically and psychologically. He sat on the edge of her bed and patted the spot next to him for her to join him.

"I'll stand," she said.

"I fear we have had a _mal-entendido_, um, a misunderstanding," he began, his accent mysteriously thickening now. "It could be the language barrier, eh?"

"I don't think language barriers have anything to do with what happened by the pool." Angela turned her back to him and threw clothes into her suitcase, not caring that they were rumpled. She took a deep breath and faced him anew. "I'm going to say this as simply as I can. I want to leave. Now. Is that clear enough for you?" She kept her head up high and didn't flinch from his menacing stare. "Now, Paolo, I mean it. I want to call a taxi, now."

He opened his mouth to protest but she interrupted him with her hand. "Now! You can't hold me here against my will. How can you expect to conduct business under these circumstances?" Angela appealed to their business relationship because she could feel herself losing ground. Paolo wasn't caving and he most definitely had the upper hand.

"I think you are overreacting," he told her. He furrowed his dark hairy eyebrows and stared her down. "I have given you a one hundred million dollar account and a partnership. And yet you would risk all that because I invited you to swim in my pool? Because I didn't wear a _maio_?" He shook his head and shot through her with a look that made her feel like a complete imbecile.

Angela froze, one hand grasping a pile of clothing, the other inside her suitcase shoving items aside. Her heart fluttered and a stab of doubt pierced its way into her gut. Was she overreacting to the pool incident?

Paolo noted her 'deer caught in headlights' expression and seized his chance. "My dear, you are tired and it is late. If you leave now, you will be disturbing your friend while he sleeps."

"I don't think Tony would mind …" she began, but Paolo cut her off sharply.

"_I_ would mind, and _I_ am your client. We have an early morning tour of my factory followed by important meetings. It will be a busy day and you need to rest. Sleep now. I will not disturb you." His voice was mellow, reassuring. He took a watchful step toward her, then another when she didn't flinch. He knew he stood within her personal space but he didn't back down. This technique worked well when he wanted to get his way, especially with women. Paolo led with his face and completely invaded his target's space, owning it.

Angela was like a fly caught in a spider's web, paralyzed. She also felt judged by him for her reactions and was now heaping doubt and guilt upon herself for having risked such a huge account over what was probably only a misunderstanding. "I … I suppose I could sleep here tonight," she capitulated, not wanting to sound too eager, yet not wanting to alienate such an important client.

"Yes, that is good. I will leave you now and we will forget all about this _mal-entendido," _he said reassuringly. "I am sorry that you mistook my intentions," he added as an afterthought.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I guess I overreacted," she said.

Paolo gave her a short bow, walked out and closed the door behind him.

Angela collapsed onto the bed and cringed. "Did I just apologize to him?" she wondered aloud.

XXXXX

The day seemed to go on forever. Meeting after meeting with merchandisers, marketers, the silver-haired lothario from the Board of Directors, creative consultants and other important managers. The many unfamiliar faces became a mosaic of disjointed images in her mind and Angela would be hard pressed to remember anybody's name after the day's charged schedule.

Earlier that morning, she had also toured Paolo's factory and been shocked at how many workers were crammed in together, as well as the young ages of the seamstresses. The girls had been harried, sweaty and tired. Huge piles of beach cover-ups, as well as bathing suits, pareos and beach bags sprung into being from their nimble, scarred fingers. One girl who looked to be no more than fourteen and pregnant was clearly exhausted. She'd sat hunched over her sewing machine as though her back caused her pain and didn't even look up from her pile of garments when Paolo and Angela walked beside her.

"You appear to have more than a few teenaged girls in your employ," she'd commented as they'd walked along the factory aisles. She almost had to shout her words to be heard above the constant whirring of the sewing machines.

"Yes, they are young and strong. They have much energy for this demanding job," Paolo had replied nonplussed.

"Shouldn't these girls be in school?" she'd asked.

"That is not my business. I am in the business of designing and manufacturing beachwear. If they chose not to go to school, what concern is that of mine?"

"But you're their employer Paolo! They're only children, barely older than my son."

Paolo had stopped and looked down at her, then leaned in close and hissed, "They are poor, and I pay them wages so they can eat. Are we going to have another _mal-entendido_?"

"I … um, I only wanted to … uh, no." She'd stepped away from him and looked at her feet. Angela knew that if she merged the Bower Agency with _Duro Maio_, these exploited teenaged workers would sit on her conscience, heavy as stones in the river.

XXXX

Tony got up with a sense of purpose that morning. He was determined to find Angela and bring her back to the Marriott, possibly even back to Connecticut if they could manage an earlier flight. Deep within every fibre of his being, he knew that something was wrong. It wasn't like Angela not to contact him. The fact that she hadn't even called home was a red flag for Tony. A huge red flag. And right now, he felt like a raging bull.

He showed up at the office tower where _Duro Maio_ was located, bright and early with a coffee in hand and settled himself in the lobby. He scanned the mob of hurrying employees, searching for that one tall blonde but he did not see her. When the work crowd finally thinned, Tony took the elevator up to the _Duro Maio_ offices on the top floors.

"Excuse me," he said to the receptionist.

"Yes?" The immaculately groomed woman looked up at him in surprise. She wasn't accustomed to Americans, especially ones wearing jeans, showing up in her reception area.

"I'm looking for Angela Bower. She's visiting from the United States and is a personal guest of Paolo Duro's."

"_Senhora_ Bower? Ah _sim_. She is with_ Senhor_ Duro now. They are at his _fabrica."_

"Where's that? What's a _fabrica_? Is that where they make fabric or somethin'?"

"They make the things to wear … with fabric, _sim_."

Despite the language barrier, Tony managed to figure out where the factory was located and ordered a taxi. The factory was located just beyond the city borders. On the drive over, he passed through a slum area that made Harlem look fancy. Multicolored tenements cluttered the hillsides, competing for space. Tony was reminded of crooked Lego blocks arranged by a drunk. Scruffy looking children ran through the garbage-strewn street, playing with sticks while women in rags hung their laundry to dry and yelled after the children to mind them. It was utter chaos, sheer poverty and Tony couldn't believe how close they still were to the Marriott. He'd had no idea that this level of destitution lived at his hotel doorstep.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" he asked the taxi driver.

"Yes, we must drive through the favelas. The factory is a longer drive away," the cabbie explained.

"So much poverty," Tony said, mouth agape. He spied a group of teenaged boys running together, bare chested and apparently aimless.

"Some kids work at the Duro factory," the cabbie said. "Uh, favela girls cheap to hire."

"What?"

"Better factory than collecting garbage," said the cabbie, his expression grim. "At least they are safer inside."

Tony shook his head and wondered what Angela would think about hiring cheap child labor. Safer or not, she wouldn't approve of exploiting the poor, especially kids.

When they pulled into the factory's parking lot, Tony asked the cabbie to wait for him and went in search of Angela.

Another surprised receptionist gave him similar news. He'd missed Angela and Paolo once again. They had been there and already left only moments earlier. In hindsight, Tony wondered if the out-of-place limo he'd passed in the slums had in fact been Paolo's. Tony groaned in frustration for having missed Angela by mere minutes. He slumped into the back seat of his waiting cab and directed it to return. The cabbie gave him a confused look and asked, "This is about a woman?"

"Yeah, a woman. My best friend. I can't find her! She's with Paolo Duro, working with him, staying at his villa and she hasn't called me. Man, I'm worried and I need to see her for myself! I was hoping she'd be at the factory but I just missed her. She was there five minutes ago, arrggghhh."

"With _Senhor_ Duro? Oh." The cabbie looked at Tony with sympathy

"What do you mean, 'oh'?" Tony asked him.

"How shall I say? _Senhor_ Duro has a certain reputation. With women."

"Oh?" Tony's heart began to pound. "Tell me."

"He has had many, many, many women," the cabbie began. "Uh, last year he became enamored by one of his models. She worked for him and stayed at his villa."

"I'm listenin'. Go on," Tony urged him. He leaned forward and hugged the front seat's headrest.

"It is a very sad story. He became obsessed with the girl, took her everywhere with him. She became quite famous, even beyond Brazil. Maybe you heard of her in the U.S.? Her name was Lucia Corado."

"Was?"

"She's dead now. That is why my story is sad. Lucia was going to model in New York—she was discovered in the _Duro Maio_ catalogue."

"Well … well … how did she die?" Tony asked.

"She drowned."

"Drowned? In the ocean?"

"No. In Paolo Duro's swimming pool."

"Oh my god! Drive man, drive! I have to get to Angela right now!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

She spied the receptionist leaving her desk and the phone unattended. Angela peered down the hall, to her left, then to her right. Paolo was in private phone conference for the next hour and he'd left Angela to her own devices, as well as she could be while stuck in the offices of _Duro Maio _waiting for him to finish. He'd also given her work to do and stuck her in a colleague's office until he finished his telephone meetings.

Angela felt sneaky, even a bit guilty but a quiet desperation welled up within her and propelled her toward the phone. She'd seen the receptionist head to the photocopier with a huge stack of documents and figured she had at least ten minutes to make this call. She sat down at the reception desk and took the crumpled, sweat-stained paper out of her pocket. The phone number for the Marriott. Her heart thudded with each number she dialled.

"This is the Marriott, _boa tarde_, good afternoon," the pleasant sounding concierge answered into the phone.

"Good afternoon. I'd like to speak to one of your guests please. Tony Micelli, room 342." Angela waited until she was transferred. With each ring into Tony's room, Angela's heart skipped a beat. Her nerves were getting the better of her, as was her fear that he might be angry with her for not calling sooner. How would she explain that to him? If he knew that Paolo was preventing her from calling, he'd certainly flip out and …

"I am sorry, there is no answer," the concierge said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Oh." Disappointed.

"Would you like to leave him a message?"

"Um sure. Please tell him that Angela called. I'm at _Duro Maio_ now but will be heading over to Paolo's villa in about an hour."

"And what is the phone number where he can reach you?"

"I … I don't know." Angela quickly hung up the phone when she saw the receptionist veer around the corner. She stumbled out of the chair and grabbed a pen. "I needed to borrow a pen," she told the receptionist.

"_Tudo bem_, take pen, yes." The immaculately groomed brunette raised her left eyebrow and peered at her desk. Satisfied that everything was in order, she nodded at Angela and dismissed her.

Angela's walked on wobbly legs and headed toward the elevators, desperate for some fresh air. She had to get away, from the suspicious glances, from the constant company of others and complete lack of privacy. Even now, with Paolo in a meeting, rather than offer her his empty office, he'd locked it and told her to sit with young shy Esteban. In that tiny office, she'd felt like a fish in a fishbowl, conspicuous. Of course with Esteban guarding his phone, Paolo was once again ensuring that she couldn't call Tony.

As the elevator made its way down to the lobby, Angela tried to steady her breathing. Not only did she need to speak to Tony so he would know she was alright, she desperately needed to confide in him. With hindsight, she realized that he was always her 'go-to' person. When she had an idea that needed to be bounced off of someone, she called for Tony. When a client was giving her trouble, she told Tony first. When she was celebrating a victory, Tony was the one she couldn't wait to see. His advice, words of comfort and praise fed her soul. If she hadn't told Tony about a thing, it churned in her head until she could finally share it with him. Sure, she talked to Mother, but it was Tony's opinion that mattered the most. It was Tony's hugs that felt the warmest and safest, and it was Tony's sense of humour that kept her afloat during the difficult times. She longed to feel his comforting arms around her now. She longed to unburden herself and tell him everything about her virtual imprisonment and the hundred million dollar merger. If anybody could sort it out, it was Tony.

Frantic for freedom, Angela Bower practically vaulted out of that elevator, toward the lobby doors, where the sunshine was bright. Eyes struggling to adjust to the bright natural light, she didn't see him at first.

"Angela?!"

She swung around at the sound of his voice and froze where she stood. "Tony?" she asked, unsure of her good luck. "Tony? Oh my god, Tony. You're here." Angela flung her arms around him and held on for dear life. She pressed her cheek against his stubbled one and relished the feel of his rough skin against hers. She inhaled his masculine scent where his hair touched his collar and squeezed him even more tightly. She wanted more of him; she wanted to kiss him all over, her relief was so great.

"Ay-oh, Angela," Tony gently pulled himself out of her tight grip and held her at arm's length to look at her. "Why didn't you call me? I've been worried sick here." Tony's face betrayed him—his features mirrored everything he was feeling now—hurt, relief, resentment and love.

"I'm sorry, oh Tony, I'm so sorry. I tried to call you, I couldn't_"

"You couldn't? Were you that busy?" Tony's hurt expression was now dominant.

"No, I couldn't get to a phone," she admitted as she stared at their feet.

"Not for nothin', but that's a pretty lame excuse. You couldn't get to a phone? There's one right here in the lobby, Ang. And what, Paolo doesn't have a phone in his house?" Tony shook his head and took a step away from her.

"You don't understand." Angela swallowed the lump in her throat. She reached out to touch Tony's arm, but he shrugged her off.

"Look Angela, if you didn't want me here, you should have just said so. I thought we'd spend some time together, go to the beach, and see the sites." He noted her pallor and added, "Doesn't look like you've even been outside yet. You been workin' all this time? No breaks?"

Angela could sense him closing himself off. In her panic, she simply blurted out, "Paolo wouldn't let me call you. He hasn't left me alone for a minute, until now. Tony, I can't leave the villa!" Her face burned with shame because she'd just admitted the thing she feared. Paolo had completely usurped her autonomy and freedom.

He tilted his head as though trying to wrap his thoughts around her words. "He's holding you against your will and keeping you away from the phone?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," she whispered. "I couldn't get the code."

"What code?"

"To call outside of the house! I tried to call you my first day there but the call wouldn't go through. Then, I wanted to call you from here, but things got a bit crazy and last night when I wanted to return to the Marriott, Paolo became upset!" Angela's voice rose, tinged with faint hysteria.

Tony looked at her in surprise, scrutinizing her face, her voice and her gestures. "What's going on, Angela? Are you okay?"

Caught off guard by the seriousness of his tone, she shook her head and said, "No, I'm not." Admitting it made her feel weak and stupid. She couldn't meet his gaze.

"Hey, can you talk to me?" He gently put his index finger beneath her chin and raised it so he could look her in the eye. "Talk to me," he repeated. His dark eyes full of concern now, he moved his finger away from her chin and cupped her left cheek with his right hand. The heat of her blush seared his palm.

"Tony, can we just leave? I need to get away from him, er, from here."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Where to?"

"The hotel?"

"Are you askin' me or tellin' me?"

"It's where I want to go," she said, still sounding uncertain. "But my purse is upstairs. I have to get it."

"I'm coming with you. There's obviously a lot you haven't told me, but based on what you have said, there's no way in hell that I'm lettin' you back into the ogre's den alone." He expected her to protest but she nodded meekly instead.

"We better hurry. Paolo's tied up in a phone conference. I want to get out before he catches, er, sees me." She grabbed Tony's arm and pulled him toward the elevator. Adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream giving her courage. Tony at her side made her escape easier.

"Angela, I've been looking for you all day. I was here this morning, then at the factory, now back here. I thought I'd never find you." They were on the elevator, heading up to the top floor.

"Oh my god, you were at the factory?" she gasped. "Oh Tony, it was awful there. There were kids, little girls working their fingers to the bone."

"I know." His face was grim. "There's other stuff I found out about Paolo, Angela."

"What?"

He was about to answer her, but the elevator doors opened. "Quick, grab your purse!" He followed her into the corridor. The receptionist recognized him and waved.

"You found_ Senhora_ Bower," she exclaimed.

"Yeah, and we're leaving," he said. He watched Angela sprint down the hall and enter one of the offices. She exited and was walking toward him with her purse in hand.

"Got it. Tony, let's go. Now."

"Wait!" the receptionist called to the departing couple "Wait, I have notified _Senhor_ Duro. He's coming to talk to you. You must wait!"

Angela froze, trapped between the reception desk and the elevator, a mere few feet away. Her moment of indecision cost her. She heard his long angry footsteps before he came into view.

"_Querida_?" Paolo blocked the elevator doors with his large frame. "Where are you going?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_**A/N: Dear reader, I typed this with a cat on my arm. Seriously. He wouldn't budge. **_

"I'm leaving, Paolo," Angela said. Her voice was quiet and firm, and she stood tall, not backing down from him. Nothing Paolo could do or say would prevent her from leaving with Tony now.

She glared at him and he glared back, in what appeared to be a blinking contest—she stood her ground and he refused to budge.

"Get outta the way!" Tony shouted, when it was clear that Paolo wasn't going to give way. He continued to block the elevator, legs planted solid as tree trunks. "Move, or I'm gonna forcibly move you." Tony balled his fists and took a menacing step toward the taller man.

Paolo stepped aside and closer to Angela. In a harsh whisper, he said, "I hope you will be back to my villa this evening. You don't want to jeopardize a one hundred million dollar merger, do you? I'll give you the use of my limo so my driver can bring you back."

"Bring me back?" she scoffed. "Bring me back to your place, where I'm not allowed to make a phone call? Back to your virtual prison of luxury, where I can't come and go as I please?"

"You do not speak truth." Paolo replied. The angry gleam in his onyx eyes belied his cool demeanor.

"You're accusing me of lying?"

"Ay-oh, you accusin' her of lying?" Tony cut in. "And what merger?!"

"Truthfully, did I lock you in my home?" Paolo demanded, ignoring Tony. "Did I put a guard at the door and force you to stay?"

"I had no means of transportation at my disposal. And by refusing me access to your phone, I couldn't call a taxi," Angela retorted.

"You only needed to ask for the code and choose an appropriate time to make your phone calls. Asking to call your lawyer at midnight or to leave my home at one in the morning was ridiculous!" he reminded her. "As I recall, you chose to spend last night at my home, and to wait until today to phone your lawyer. I did not prevent anything. There are phones here … go, go and call your lawyer," Paolo taunted her. "I told you that I wished to speak to him as well. Do you not recall the details of our conversation last night?"

Paolo's words sowed confusion into her thoughts. "You're muddling everything I say!" she said. "You know very well that I couldn't call_"

Paolo cut her off. "I know of nothing. You are making false accusations."

"But … but …no, you wouldn't give me the code. You didn't give it to me when I wanted to call Tony that first night," she argued.

"You did not ask me for the code on the first night. You asked me the next morning as we were leaving to meet the Board of Directors. We were in a hurry. You could have made your call after the meeting." Paolo's words were calm and smooth, and the seeds of doubt that he planted in Angela's argument caused her to falter. He went in for the kill, "Did you not agree to stay last night, _querida_?"

"I … um … well yes," she capitulated.

"And were the only times you tried to make phone calls when we were late for an important meeting, and again after midnight?"

"Also during a meal," she added, strengthening his case against her.

"I will give you the code. It is 2364." Paolo flashed her a reassuring smile and patted her shoulder. "We have had quite a few _mal-entendido_. Perhaps it is a cultural difference. I will … how you say … forgive you this time. But the next time, I may not be so diplomatic. You would put our merger at risk with your _mentiras_."

"My what?" Angela felt nothing but confusion and a sense of defeat.

"What merger, Angela?" Tony asked again.

Caught between the two men, Angela swivelled around to face Tony but kept Paolo in her peripheral vision. "_Duro Maio_ wants to merge with the Bower Agency. Tony, I want to talk to you about it in more detail, but now's not a good time." She gave him a look that spoke volumes about her need to process everything.

Angela needed time to think, to separate her thoughts from Paolo's words, and sort out the truth from the doubts he kept planting in her mind. Whenever he refuted her statements, she questioned herself. And right now, her mind was awhirl with dissonant thoughts. Tony's merger questions weren't helping any either.

"I'm leaving," Angela said once more, though her tone was less sure and tinged with fatigue.

"I will call my limo for you," Paolo said.

"No thank you. Tony and I will be fine on our own."

Paolo positioned himself between Angela and the elevator door, "Do not take my proposal lightly. You will return to my villa after you have visited with your … maid. Take the limo."

"Actually Paolo, I'm going to stay at the Marriott tonight. You can send your limo to pick me up in the morning for work. My nights are my own, and I want to spend them with Tony." She pushed past him and pressed the elevator button.

"One hundred million dollars," Paolo warned her. "You can be replaced."

Angela straightened her shoulders, and continued to stare at the elevator doors. She wasn't sure that she didn't want to be replaced right now. Weighing the pros and cons of huge international success and incredible wealth against her personal autonomy was a precarious scale at best. It could tip either way, and right now she needed to be alone and think.

"_Senhora_ Bower! _Senhora_ Bower!" Esteban cried out frantically, stampeding out of office and down the corridor toward Angela.

"What is it Esteban?"

"EMI Capitol called. You got it! They have given the Bower Agency copyrights to use Duran Duran's song _Rio_!"

The power shifted.

"EMI Capitol gave _my agency the_ rights to the song? Oh. Well I guess I'm not that replaceable after all, am I?" Angela said without turning around. The elevator doors opened and she walked straight in with Tony at her side knowing that she'd just won this round.

* * *

><p>"Oh Tony, an ocean view—how lovely!" Angela sat on the bed in their suite and kicked off her high heels. From the bed, she needed only to turn her face toward the window to admire the water. She propped herself up on her elbow, and took deep relaxing breaths. It was then she realized that she'd barely been breathing during her time with Paolo. No wonder she was so tense. Her head hurt, her neck ached, her shoulders felt tight and her back was in spasms.<p>

Tony watched Angela as she stared out the window, feeling a tremendous sense of relief that she was here with him. "It's a great view. I spent my first day here watching people swim."

"You did? You stayed in the room?" Angela sat up to look at him. "Why didn't you join them?"

"Because Angela, I was waitin' for you to call me. After Paolo dumped me here, he took off with you, and I had no way to reach you. He deliberately separated us and cut you off." Tony shook his head. "Are you ready to talk yet? About the merger and stuff?" he probed. Angela had remained quiet during the taxi ride back to the hotel, and Tony had respected her need for silence despite the multitude of questions that percolated and threatened to explode out of his mouth.

"I'm so sorry Tony. I'm sorry you were waiting for my call and worrying. Yes, we'll talk," she began, "but first I need to relax. Talk of Paolo is making my headache return. I'm not kidding; as soon as I think or talk about him, my neck and shoulders tense up again, then a sharp pain shoots up my neck, behind my ear and around my skull!" With her fingers, she traced the path of pain over her neck and skull.

"You poor thing. He really did a number on you." Tony came to sit beside her on the bed. "You're just gonna relax for what's left of today, okay? Can you take tomorrow off, and spend it with me? We can unwind on the beach, do a bit of site-seeing …" he trailed off, not wanting to pressure her.

"I'd love nothing more, really." Angela gave him a wan smile.

"What? No objections?" He studied her, noticing the dark smudges beneath her eyes and the pinched look on her pale face. She wasn't getting enough sleep or taking care of herself. "'Cause Angela, if anybody needs a vacation, it's you."

"You're right. I need a break from Paolo, from his incessant need to control everything I do, and from work in general. I'm going to leave a message with his secretary letting her know that tomorrow I'm taking a vacation day. EMI Capitol signed a contract with the Bower Agency. I've got some leverage now, Tony. And frankly, the thought of seeing Paolo again is giving me a migraine." She pressed her fingers to her right temple and twisted her neck to the side. Angela carried her tension in her neck and shoulders, and more often than not, the inevitable outcome was a right-sided migraine.

Tony decided that his number one goal over the next twenty four hours would be to help Angela relax and keep her away from Paolo. He also wanted to get to the bottom of this merger business.

"Ow," Angela cried. An audible cracking noise burst from her neck, which she now cradled in her hands.

"What did you do!?"

"Something just went pop in there … uh, I think I stretched my neck the wrong way. Oh god, it hurts."

"Not for nothin' Ang, but I ain't heard a pop like that come from a human body since my shoulder injury. Let me have a look."

"I'm scared to let go," she whimpered.

"Gently now, gently, okay? I promise I won't hurt you." Tony pried her hands away from her neck and put his warm hands where hers had been. He let their heat sink into her skin and waited for her breathing to ease. "There, there," he murmured into her ear. The tension in her neck sat like a stone in his hands, hard and unyielding. With the utmost gentleness, he caressed the spasmed area, increasing the pressure of his touch in small increments so that she could bear it. "Is that okay?" he asked her.

"Ummm, yes. It's helping."

"You need a real massage. Why don't you change into something comfortable and I'll work my magic fingers on your neck and shoulders."

"I would, except I left all my things at Paolo's villa. I haven't got a thing with me, not even a toothbrush. Oh dear, I don't even know how to get in touch with Paolo to have my things sent back and I don't want to return to the villa! Tony, what am I going to do? My passport is in my suitcase!" Angela's notched up anxiety returned the rock-like tension to her neck and shoulders. Tony could literally feel it growing beneath his sensitive fingers.

"Calm down, Angela. We'll get your stuff, but you don't need it this second. There's a gift shop downstairs, where you can get basic toiletries and a souvenir nightgown. Just tell me what you need, and I'll go and grab it. You stay here and relax." Before she could object, he added, "and take a hot shower will ya? It'll help ease some of them knots that are growing back. Geez, and here I thought I'd gotten rid of this one. Now it's double the size." Tony firmly pressed on the largest stress point causing Angela to cry out.

"Tony! Owwww."

"Sorry, but I think you just proved my point. Now get in the shower. I'll get you a toothbrush and a nightgown."

"Um, and an antiperspirant please," she said, slightly embarrassed.

"Alright. Anything else? I mean I got stuff you can borrow, like toothpaste and shampoo …"

"Maybe I should go with you to the shop. I, er, also need underthings."

"That's not a problem. They sell everything in that shop."

"Yeah but, Tony… my underthings? You wouldn't know what to get."

"You're kiddin' right? Angela, I know that you're a size six and a 34B, and that you have a preference for plain black or white cotton, detest synthetic fabrics, and sometimes you like a bit of lace."

"Oh my god," she gasped and stumbled backward on the bed. "Ow, my neck." She stared at him, eyes round like saucers. "You know all that about my _underwear_?"

"Well I do do your laundry," he said with a sheepish grin. "Besides, this isn't my first foray to buy a training bra for Sam, ya know?"

She blinked but said nothing. Of course he did her laundry, but she'd always pictured him throwing it into the washing machine, willy-nilly, eyes closed, and probably with a great deal of male uneasiness. Yet now, he sounded so unfazed, like a man running mundane errands for his wife. A hot blush crept up her sore neck and coloured her cheeks in vivid shades of crimson. She turned her gaze back out the window.

"Take that shower and when I return, I'll give you a massage. Make sure that water's hot, so it can really do its job, okay?" He was looking at her with such concern and worry, especially because her head was oddly twisted to one side. "Gotta fix that neck."

He left her sitting on the bed, transfixed by the sight of the ocean.

* * *

><p>Angela took the longest, hottest shower she could remember. The heat and pulsating showerhead eased the surface tension from her shoulders but the stiff knots remained heavy and tender. They needed human hands, Tony's hands, to obliterate them.<p>

"Yo Ang, I'm back," Tony called out from the bedroom. "You still in the shower? There's a steam cloud in here. Using up all the hot water in Brazil?"

"I'm done—just moisturizing my legs" she replied, then wondered why she'd told him that at all.

"I got your stuff. Come have a look." Tony set his purchases down on the bed and spread them out for her to examine. He'd gotten a standard toothbrush and a hairbrush, two pairs of white cotton undies and a bra in her size, as well as a souvenir sleep shirt, a pair of socks, a day shirt, a deodorant and a face powder like the one she had at home. He'd also splurged and chosen a bikini for their day at the beach tomorrow. The shop carried a wide selection of _Duro Maio_ bikinis but Tony ignored those in favour of a little turquoise number with brown flowers. He'd never seen Angela in a bikini but his imagination informed him that this particular one would look stunning on her, or rather, she'd look stunning in it. Instead of setting it out with the other things, he tucked it out of sight. He'd give it to her tomorrow.

Angela came out of the bathroom, looking cozy and adorable in the hotel issued white terrycloth robe. It was a bit loose on her, and he could glimpse a hint of cleavage where the robe gaped at the front.

"Oh my, so many things." She walked over to the bed and looked through the items he'd purchased.

"Is this stuff okay, Angela?" He was a bit concerned by her expression of dismay upon seeing the sleep shirt."

"Yes, everything is perfect, thank you. But where's the rest of this pajama?"

"The rest of it?"

"Yeah, the bottom part." She shook the shirt three times to see if the pants would somehow magically appear.

"That's the whole thing right there, in your hands. There is no second part to it. It's a sleep shirt, Angela, not a pair of pajamas." Tony grabbed it out of her hands and held it up in front of her. "See? It's long enough."

"For a micro mini, perhaps."

"I can take it back. There was a longer lacy nightie in black silk if you'd prefer. I just thought you'd like this one 'cause it says Rio on it."

"Uh huh. It's um nice. Thank you Tony." She tidied up the items and carried them over to the dresser and placed them inside. "No pants for tomorrow?"

"You're going to be spending tomorrow at the beach! Besides, you can buy your own pants, or call Paolo and get your things sent over." Tony noticed her cringe at the mention of Paolo's name. "So, Ang, you ready for that massage? Did the shower help a bit?" He reminded himself not to mention Paolo, not to even say his blasted name.

"Yes, the heat helped somewhat, but the knot isn't budging."

"Alright, well why don't you take off your robe and lie down on your tummy?"

"T …t …take off my robe?"

"Well yeah, I can't massage you through thick terry cloth. Even _my_ fingers aren't _that_ good. Relax, Angela. You can throw a towel over your, er, derriere. Isn't that how they do it at the spa?" Tony had once received a massage gift card from Angela after he'd wrenched his back cleaning the eaves troughs. He remembered the towel bit. And the massage oil too. "Look what I got," he said with a sly grin.

"Massage oil?" Angela cast her eyes down at the bed, then back up at Tony holding the little bottle of oil.

"Yeah, the saleslady said this one is very relaxing. It's ylang-ylang. Here take a whiff." He held the open bottle against her nose. The sweet fragrance wafted before her like flowers heavy with dew.

"Ummm."

"So, you approve?" Her half-open eyelids and open mouth told him she did. "Come on, hop up and I'll knead those knots out of your neck."

Angela remembered what she'd once gleaned in an aromatherapy brochure at the health food store. Ylang-ylang had antidepressant, antiseptic and relaxing properties, and could also be used as an aphrodisiac. "It smells wonderful." She saw Tony's earnest expression and his desire to help her. After spending two days with Paolo, Tony was the cure. And he was offering it to her now, in the form of a delicately scented oil, warm willing hands and genuine care. Unlike Paolo, he did not have ulterior motives, nor would he suddenly expose himself to her. She shuddered at the memory of Paolo's shocking audacity by the pool, and her neck spasmed in response.

"Wow, you really do need to relax. I'm just gonna turn around and you tell me when you're ready, okay? Here's a towel."

'Don't overthink this, Angela,' she told herself. She untied the bathrobe, hesitated for a moment, and turned around to make sure that Tony wasn't looking. True to his word, he was staring at the wall. She drew a sharp breath and flung off the robe, standing nude in the middle of the room. The mere act of undressing beside Tony (even if he was facing the wall) aroused her. She had a sudden impulse of wanting to tap his shoulder and show herself to him. 'But then I'd be like Paolo,' she thought. She shook her head and lay down on her stomach, then flung the towel over her bum. "I'm ready," she called.

Tony stood at the foot of the bed and stared. The first thing he noticed was the misplaced towel, too high up her back and not covering the lower part of her behind. He gulped. His gaze continued downward to the tops of her nude thighs. He had to repress the desire in himself or he wouldn't be able to give her a proper massage. 'Stop lookin' at her legs,' he silently reprimanded himself. His eyes obeyed and trialed up her body to her smooth back instead, the dim light showcasing the silken skin.

'Don't think, Micelli,' he chided himself. 'Just do it.' He poured some of the oil into his hands and warmed it up, then tried to imitate what he remembered from his own massage. He placed one hand on either side of her shoulders and began to rub in the oil with circular strokes. "I'll work on your neck after I've done your back and shoulders, okay?"

"Ummm."

Tony went to work, sliding his hands down her entire torso and back up again. He kneaded the tension around her spine, careful not to touch the spine itself. Ever so often, Angela would let out a small sigh or a barely audible moan. The small feminine sounds were tiny rewards onto themselves. He was also rewarded by the incredible softness of her skin; she was unlike any woman he'd ever touched before, like warmed velvet, or buttery silk. He didn't know, didn't care, except for wanting to touch her everywhere. "Your skin is so soft," popped out of his mouth.

"Ummmm."

Clearly, Angela was in her own little world now. He'd elicited two moans in a row from her, instead of the usual double sigh, half moan, full sigh and full moan. He was counting. How he'd love to hear her moan and cry out his name in lovemaking. The image appeared in his head and he entertained it.

"Tony? Don't stop."

"Sorry Ang … just resting my fingers. You have a very tense back," he said, as if he actually knew that. So focussed was he on the feel of her skin, that he hadn't paid much attention to the stressed out sinews along her lower back. He adjusted himself so she wouldn't feel anything poking into her back, and in his anxiety to be proper, unintentionally pushed her towel to the side. She didn't react, and he stared besotted at her beautiful backside. He was reminded of a ripe peach and longed to put his mouth against her skin and nibble the ripe flesh. Unable to tear away his eyes from her assets, he continued massaging her downward, over her entire back, and lower, to her gluteal muscles.

"Tony? Where's my towel?" she asked, her voice sleepy and faraway. Angela had drifted off but Tony's hands on her bare behind was such an arousing sensation that it'd jerked her awake. Pleasantly and erotically. She shifted slightly, feeling quite vulnerable because of her nudity, but wanting to face him, wanting to pull him down on top of her and kiss him senseless. Her heart was racing and an uncomfortable throbbing deep within her centre decided to assert its presence right then and there. She squirmed and wiggled her behind, willing her legs to stay closed. "My … towel … please," she said between heavy breaths.

"It fell, yaknow. I gotitnowandhereitis," he replied, words slurred and running together as frantically as his heart was pounding. "Sorry Ang." Tony bent down and picked the towel off the floor. He couldn't help but admire the way her nude body pressed into the firm mattress, not heavy enough to sink in. He snuck a peak at the side of her left breast and forced himself to look away.

"I, uh, I need a break, Angela. Maybe I can massage your neck if you sit up … wearing something. I .. I need a shower. Bye."

Angela heard him go into the bathroom and run the shower. A cold one, no doubt, she told herself. She knew she could use one too. Sharing a room with Tony and spending the day together would be a challenge, she realized. One she was looking forward to.

_A/N: More to come: Next, Tony and Angela's day at the beach. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Angela woke to the scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery croissants. She stretched in her hotel bed, temporarily disoriented. Then she remembered. She remembered returning to the Marriott with Tony, her neck spasm (it was still hurting), his personal shopping spree for her, as well as the massage that had ended so abruptly. Still cocooned in the semi-daze of sleep, she closed her eyes and relived the feel of Tony's strong hands on her back and backside. He hadn't returned to her after his cold shower. At first she'd thought he might, and continue massaging her shoulders, then work the kinks out of her neck. But in the end, he'd merely popped his head out of the steamy bathroom and said a hasty goodnight to her. He'd gone and slept on the little fold out couch in the suite's living area, leaving her alone in the bed.

She couldn't help but feel badly about this, as though she'd scared him away. But then again, it wasn't her fault that the towel had fallen to the wayside. A line had been crossed, the mysterious, undefinable line that she and Tony constantly toed and tested. His hands on her behind had definitely pushed the boundary beyond mere testing, and the regrettable result was his reluctance to return to her. The memory of his touch remained with her, like faded embers. She knew that if he were to touch her again, he'd ignite her passion, but she doubted that he'd make that mistake twice. Feeling slightly glum about the whole thing, she headed into the bathroom. When she'd finished her ablutions, a surge of shyness overtook her. She tugged at the hem of her Rio sleep shirt, but no matter how much she tugged at it, it remained inches above her knees.

"Good morning," Tony called to her as she joined him in the main room. "I called room service for breakfast. Coffee, croissants and soft boiled eggs." Tony tried to sound nonchalant but he didn't look it, especially not with his eyes bulging out of his head like a cartoon character at the sight of Angela in her Rio nightshirt. She'd been right—it was too short. He eventually averted his eyes, but not before giving her long legs the once over, then the twice over. She caught him looking and pulled at the hem of her shirt, then sat down with her legs pressed together.

"Thank you. It smells wonderful." Angela took the cup that Tony handed her and sipped her coffee. "Delicious."

Tony was now looking anywhere but at Angela's legs. In his worried determination to avoid them, his head movements became jerky and odd. "So, uh, Angela," he began while gazing out the window, "sure is a nice day today. Perfect for the beach, eh?"

"It is lovely. I regret not spending any time outdoors yet."

"You work too hard. But hey, I heard that Paolo's villa has a pool." He wanted to tell her about Lucia Corado, the model who had drowned in Paolo's pool. Then, he hoped that she'd confide in him about the mysterious merger he'd heard being alluded to. After that, he would persuade her to dump Paolo's account and stay away from him.

"Yes, he does have a pool," she said, then looked away from him to hide her furious blush.

Tony noticed her crimson cheeks, the flare of her nostrils and the look of utter disgust on her face. "Something happen at the pool?" he asked cautiously.

"You could say that." Angela walked over to the window with her coffee and stared out at the ocean. She fixed her gaze on the repetitive movement of the waves and took three deep breaths, silently counting to ten each time.

"You gonna share it with me?" Tony stood up and walked over to her.

"I'd rather not," she said.

"But Angela, if somethin' happened by the pool, I'd like to know about it."

"Forget it Tony. It was nothing, really." She took a step away from him and busied herself with her coffee rather than face his hurt and worried eyes.

"But Angela, what you don't know is that _." Tony was interrupted by the unexpected clanging of the hotel phone. Its unfamiliar ring made them both jump.

"I wonder who that could be!" Angela's heart gave a little start, thinking it might be Paolo.

"It could be the kids," Tony replied.

"Right. I'll get it. Hello?" she said into the receiver. "Oh hello Esteban …. Yes ….he is!? (pause) Uh huh, mmm, yes of course. Well thank you Esteban. I really appreciate the heads up. Bye."

"What was that about? Who's Esteban?"

"He's on _Duro Maio's_ Board of Directors … just a kid really. A nice kid. He called to tell me that Paolo is furious with me for calling in a vacation day today." Angela shuddered, then added, "Esteban warned me that Paolo is on his way over. We have got to get out of here!"

"What?! Why can't this sleaze bag just leave you alone?"

"Probably because there's a one hundred million dollar merger at stake."

"Could you repeat that, Ang? 'Cause I think I've got some wax in my ears. Thought I heard you say, a one hundred million dollar merger!" He stared at her, aghast.

"It's very generous. Too generous. _Duro Maio_ wants to merge the Bower Agency into itself as a subsidiary. They want me to do all of their advertising."

"_They_ … you mean _him_. Paolo. Angela, he wants to own your agency. You can't let him. The guy is a control freak."

"He lets me come up with my own campaign and ideas," Angela argued.

"Well gee, how generous of him," Tony spat out. "Of course he lets you come up with ideas. That's 'cause you're a creative genius. He can't think of anything himself. If you merge with him, he'll own your agency, and all of its ideas. No, it's not a good idea." Tony's voice rose with anger and he began to gesticulate. "Don't you see, Angela? Don't you see that even if he gives you a hundred million dollars, you won't be richer? You'll be his. He already tried to make you his. He tried to prevent you from leaving his house. He wouldn't let you call me. You have nothing to gain from a merger with him."

"But what about the international success that would follow?"

"Do you think Paolo would let you take on new clients? What did the merger paperwork stuff say?"

"That he'd have to approve new clients," she replied, her voice low and subdued.

"A-ha!"

"Tony … I just … I had such high hopes for this campaign and I … oh god, I don't know what to do!" Angela sat on the sofa bed and put her mug down, then hid her face in her hands.

"Ay-oh, it's okay." He knelt down before her and waited to be acknowledged. When she moved her hands away from her face, he grasped them in his own.

"Angela, do you remember when you got fired from _Wallace & McQuade_? Do you remember how you felt? How lost you were?"

"Of course I do. How could I ever forget one of the worst days of my life?!"

"Don't ever forget, Angela. You've come a long way since that day you cried on my shoulder. Look what you accomplished with your own tears, sweat and hard work. You started your own agency, weathered the early snags when business was slow, generated a steady clientele and built a strong reputation. It's a good thing, Angela. And you did it by yourself, no Paolo."

"I didn't do it all by myself. I had help … good help." She gave him a shy smile and added, "I never would have started the Bower Agency without your encouragement, Tony. You gave me the confidence and support I needed."

"Well hey, families stick together. And we're family."

"We are?" His words gave her hope.

"Of course we are. You know that. You, me, Mona, and the kids. We're definitely a family." Tony nodded his head with vigor and stood up. "And ya know what else? Since you're giving me credit for helping you start your agency, then let me have a say in its fate now, please."

"Alright."

"Thank you." Tony paused to find the right words. "Angela, ever since the night you met Paolo, I've felt that something is, er, off."

"Off?"

"Yeah, _off_. Not right, as in _not supposed to be._ I can't explain it any better than that. Everything about him is wrong. I don't trust him, not as far as I can throw him. Please don't merge with him, Angela. The Bower Agency is yours. Don't sell it to him."

"I'll lose the account."

"I know, and I wouldn't ask that of you unless I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was the right thing to do. I'm sorry about your commercial."

"Just like that, huh?"

"Not 'just like that'. Angela, I didn't decide to come to Brazil 'just like that'. I knew I had to come."

"You … you weren't looking for a vacation?"

"That was merely a secondary benefit," he chuckled. "I wanted to keep an eye on Paolo and make sure you were okay."

"What?" Angela was taken aback by his admission. "You came here to protect me?"

"To be your friend. Seemed to me you needed a friend, even if you didn't know to ask for it."

Angela wasn't sure if she should be angry with him for deciding that she needed a protector, or be thankful that he was looking out for her. He always did that—looked out for her. She decided the latter would be more appropriate given the circumstances. "Thanks for looking out for me, Tony."

"Always, Angela. Always." He fixed his warm eyes on hers, their expression so kind and open.

"Always," she repeated, a bit choked up now. Families were for always. Was Tony making a life-long commitment to her, or merely being a good friend? She couldn't be sure but his assurances were enough for her now. Enough to make the choice she needed to make.

"Alright." She stood up and exhaled hard.

"Alright …what?"

"I'm taking your advice. I'm keeping my agency and not merging it with _Duro Maio_." Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the upcoming confrontation. "Paolo is going to blow a gasket."

"Don't you worry about him. I'll stay with you. I mean after what happened to that poor model_"

"What poor model?" she interrupted.

"Lucia Corado. She was a famous Brazilian model and the object of Paolo's intense desire. She drowned in his swimming pool."

"Oh my god? What? In his pool?" she gasped, shoulders rigid with horror now. A girl had died in that pool? The same pool where Paolo had thought it appropriate to expose himself? A pool he still used on a daily basis? Goosebumps broke out all over her arms and legs and she shivered.

"Yeah, and I'm not ruling out foul play, Angela. When I found out about her, I knew I had to find you right away." Tony stood beside her and laid one hand on her shoulder. "Wow, you're still so tense. How's that neck?"

"It hurts. You never got around to massaging it last night." She wouldn't look at him when she said it. The sexual tension between them was palpable and she feared it might go up in flames. However, she was also miffed by his faintheartedness, all while understanding his reluctance to touch her again. In a nutshell, Angela was confused about Tony, hurt, turned on, and overwhelmed by the situation with Paolo.

"I thought it safer if I retreated to my own corner last night, er, after the towel fell," he admitted sheepishly.

"Safer? For whom?"

"Angela!"

"I'm sorry, never mind Tony."

Tony simply stared at her from beneath furrowed brows. "Did you want …?"

"Never mind what I wanted." She took a step away from him and crossed her arms. "We have more pressing matters to worry about. Such as the fact that Paolo is on his way over. Tony, I need clothes so we can get out of here. Now."

"You don't need clothes."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, I mean that I got you this!" He flashed her a wide grin and went to grab something from under the bed.

"What have you got there?" she asked.

"A bathing suit. I bought it last night. I've always thought turquoise was a nice colour on you. Brown too." Tony took the bikini out of its bag and handed it to her. "Ta-da! Well, what do you think?"

She fingered the material and held out the bikini to examine it. "It's not one of Paolo's," she said in surprise.

"I'm boycotting him."

She laughed despite herself. "This bikini is, um, it's very nice."

"But..."

"It's not a 'but'. It's a 'however'. _However_, it is rather smallish. Kind of like this sleep shirt."

"It's a size six Angela." Tony showed her the tag. "I know that's your size. It's on all your clothing labels at home."

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Just try it on, will ya? If Paolo's on his way over, we need to get outta here."

"Right." Angela took the tiny bikini into the bathroom and got herself ready. After a quick shower, she donned the little turquoise and brown number and gasped at her reflection in the mirror. The bikini fit her to perfection. It pushed up her boobs and made her legs seem even longer than humanly possible. "Wow," she whispered to herself. She spun around a couple of times, checking that the bikini bottoms would stay in place. The extreme high cut of the briefs made her very glad to have invested in a waxing treatment the previous week. Angela wasn't usually one to bother with fancy spa services, but she'd taken care to wax her bikini line in the event of having to wear a _Duro Maio_ on the beaches of Rio. This _Tony-miao_ was even sexier and she was pretty sure that this size six corresponded to a size four back home. She'd also invested in a salt rub, and her skin glowed as a result, pale though it was.

She stepped out of the bathroom, chin up and shoulders back. Tony's suit made her feel beautiful and womanly. She loved how much cleavage the bra gave her. "It fits," she said.

Tony turned around and gripped the side of the night table for support. "Holy smokes," he murmured. "Angela?"

"In the flesh."

"And so much of it," he replied, agog.

"Yes well, you chose this bikini, Tony." Her cheeks flushed beneath his fervent gaze and she swallowed hard. "Come on, we need to leave before Paolo gets here. Why aren't you in your bathing trunks?"

"Just give me a sex …er, ah, a _second_," he stammered. They both blushed at his Freudian slip and looked away from each other.

* * *

><p>"Oh Tony, this beach is simply perfect. I can't believe how much I've missed by staying at Paolo's villa," she exclaimed. Angela tilted her head back to the sun, inviting the warmth and light to spread over her face. Her smile made it even brighter, like a megawatt bulb. Tony was reminded of a sun goddess, the way she stood there with her arms out. He could have continued to stare at her all day.<p>

He shed his shirt and found them a couple of beach chairs, then spread their hotel towels over them. "You should probably wear sunscreen, Angela. You're very pale, and I wouldn't want you to burn."

His words broke her sun-induced reverie and she turned to face him, with lips slightly parted. "You certainly aren't pale," she commented. She cast her eyes over his well-defined muscles, pausing to gaze at his chiseled chest. She could feel her pulse accelerating but was unable to tear her eyes from him. "Sunscreen?"

"Yeah, here." He thrust the bottle into her hands but she wasn't paying attention to it and dropped it at their feet. They both knelt down to pick it up at the same time, accidentally bumping their foreheads together.

"Ow," they said in unison.

Their faces were close and flushed. They were both breathing fast and Angela could feel last night's dying embers sparking back to life. "Can you apply it?" she asked.

"Uh huh." Tony picked up the bottle of sunscreen and motioned for Angela to lie down on the beach chair. "I'll do you, I mean, do your back," he stammered. She was going to be the death of him if this continued. Merely being in such close proximity to her bikini-clad body was having an effect on his breathing. He also needed to quickly readjust himself so that nothing would stand out too obviously. "Excuse me," he muttered, turning his body away from her and wiggling his lower half to make things go down.

He straddled her legs and tried to conjure up images of road kill but was distracted by the gleaming skin before him. He squirted some lotion onto her back and began rubbing it into her torso. His movements echoed those of the ill-fated massage but this time, he allowed himself to continue. He used short, deep strokes and worked the sunscreen into her shoulders, arms, then moved his way down to her legs. He worked slowly, relishing the feminine contours of her thighs and calves. "Oh boy …" he breathed.

"Okay, your turn, your turn!" Angela said. She sat up and faced him, their dilated pupils fixated on the other. If he continued touching her this way, she was liable to seduce him here and now. She grabbed for the bottle of sunscreen and hastily slathered it on the front of her thighs, then on her chest and belly, conscious of his gaze upon her while she did so. She looked up at him and told him to turn around. Squeezing a generous blob of lotion into her hands, she rubbed the lotion forcefully into his arms and back. She had to quell an overwhelming desire to kiss the back of his neck and bit down hard on her bottom lip to distract herself.

Tony enjoyed the feel of her hands massaging his flesh. Her touch was firm and sure, and she used long strokes, pausing every so often to squeeze a muscle. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to distract himself from the pleasure she was giving him.

"Uh Angela, maybe we should go in the water," he suggested. He needed cold water on himself, now.

"Yes, let's." She waggled her eyebrows at him and shouted playfully, "Race you, Micelli."

They ran, toward the water and away from the flaming embers. They ran together, giggling with mirth and joy, splashing noisily into the water a few feet, but when the water was waist deep, Tony stopped. "You win," he said.

"Well come on in where it's deeper," she said. "The water is perfect!"

"Uh, no thanks."

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Tony stood fused where he was, unable to move.

"Don't you want to swim with me?" she asked.

"Er, can't," he mumbled.

"What? I can't hear you." Angela waded over to him and wondered at his worried expression. "What's the matter, Tony?"

"I can't swim," he admitted. "Don't think any less of me, Angela. I had a traumatic childhood incident where I was nearly drowned by a fat woman with thighs like marble columns."

"Oh no, you poor thing," she said. "Come on, don't be scared. Hold my hand." She held her hand out to him and waited for him to grasp it. "Follow me, Tony." He kept his focus on her, desperate to ignore his fear. He was always happy to splash in the surf, so long as the water didn't go higher than his belly button. He followed Angela and realized the water was now chest-deep. "Ohhhhh," he moaned.

"Do you need to stop?" she asked him. He made a little whining sound in response, so she stood with him in the chest-deep water and waited. "You're alright, Tony. Seawater is very buoyant—look I can float without even trying." Angela stretched out on her back and floated effortlessly. She spread out her arms and gently kicked her feet to stay afloat, her movements barely perceptible. "This is very relaxing, and the water is doing all the work."

"You sure wear that bikini well," he said.

"Tony, are you paying attention?" She returned to a standing position and shook her head at him. "Do you want to try?"

"Huh, what?"

"Earth to Tony. Do you want to try floating on your back? I'll help you."

He looked away from her and gathered his courage. Children were swimming. Old ladies were swimming. Why couldn't he? It bugged him and was a source of extreme embarrassment.

"Come on, Tony. Here, rest on my arms. Lie back and relax. Relax in my arms and let me hold you up. The water is doing most of the work." She put her hands on his shoulders to soothe him. "It's okay. I won't let you drown." That last word gave her goosebumps again, but she dismissed the unpleasant thought and stayed focused on Tony. She held her arms straight out in front of her and explained to him how to float. After some finagling, much reassurance on Angela's part and much fretting on Tony's part, a small measure of success was won. After his fifth try to rest back in Angela's arms, he let his feet float up.

"That's it … you're getting the hang of it!" she squealed. Then his toes touched bottom again.

"One more try. Pretend you're not in water. Pretend we're in bed, okay? Now lie down."

"Okay," he smirked. "We're in bed." Tony let that thought fill his brain and pretended to lie down on a mattress. 'Like a waterbed' he told himself.

"Tony," she said in mock warning. "Hey, you're doing it! You're floating, see? Now just relax into it. Don't think, just feel … feel the gentle waves holding you up, um, feel the sun on your face, feel that I'm close to you and won't let you drop." She purposefully avoided the other d-word.

For the first time in his life, Tony Micelli floated on water. He was conscious of Angela's hands behind his back and knees, but this was a triumph nonetheless. He put his head back into the water and let it cover his ears. Sounds became muffled and he focused on the gentle lapping of waves against his body. And he was aware of Angela's body, the scent of coconut sunscreen, seawater and sunshine. He had a sudden desire to lick her. "Ummmmm," he sighed in pleasure.

"You're comfortable?" she asked him. The goofy grin on his face made her smile.

"Umm, I've never done this before. Thank you. You're the best, Angela."

"Don't fall asleep on me. I'll have to carry you back to shore," she teased.

"No worries about that!" Tony stood up and faced her. With no forewarning, he scooped her up and began running toward the sand with her in his arms.

"Oh my goodness. Toooneeeee," she shrieked. "Ha, ha,ha, put me down. Tony!" Her protest was in jest; she enjoyed being carried by him, tightly against his strong torso. There was power in his movements and she felt herself being jostled with every step he took.

"Wrap your arms around my neck, so you don't, er, bounce so much," he said. Though he did enjoy the bouncing, he wanted her closer to him. She complied and wound her arms around him. Their skin, slippery and wet slid off of each other, so that every so often, he pulled her up higher, against him so she wouldn't slide out of his grasp. Each time he did so, he was rewarded with a particularly mesmerizing view of her bouncing breasts. He could feel them against his chest and wanted nothing more than to free her of that bikini top.

"And here we are, safely on land," he declared.

"So, are you going to put me down?" she asked.

"I'm thinking about it. You do feel lighter in the water. How much do you weigh?" he teased her.

"Tony!" She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder and smiled up at him. The water in his hair glistened, and the sun played with one droplet of water near his ear. Unable to resist, she reached out to touch it and held the drop on her fingertip. "The sun was shining through this droplet," she said. "It's beautiful." She really wanted to tell him that _he_ was beautiful but she felt shy now, acutely aware of their state of semi—undress and physical intimacy.

"Angela, thank you. Thank you for givin' me that incredible experience," he said as he began to set her down. She didn't let go of his neck when her toes touched sand.

"You're welcome. Seeing that joy on your face, Tony … it was so beautiful."

"Yeah, beautiful," he echoed. She looked up and he was watching her, but no longer smiling. He moved his face closer and pressed his forehead to hers, so that their noses were touching. His mouth was so close—she could feel his breath against her cheek. But he did not kiss her. They stood like that, foreheads and noses pressed together, simply breathing each other in. Her arms remained around his neck and his wound their way over her hips, resting on her soft curves. They were lost in each other, unaware of the screeching children, the vendors calling out their wares, or the nearby ghetto blaster. They were in a world of two.

"Angela!" his sharp voice startled them.

"Paolo?" Angela gaped at the unwelcome intrusion. "What … what are you doing here?" She felt Tony's arms holding her and she leaned back into his chest for support.

"I left a message that I was coming. We need to talk! Now."

Angela stood rigid with fear and found herself quite unable to speak. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Paolo didn't belong here. This was hers and Tony's beach. She shook her head.

"Angela, we have business to discuss. You will accompany me to my office, after you've changed out of your bathing suit. That is not one of my _maios_," he chastised her.

"No."

"I will give you a nicer _maio_," he replied.

"No. No to your _maio_ and no to leaving with you." Angela found her voice and it was strong. "Paolo, I've decided against the merger."

He stared at her in disbelief and began to protest, spewing a torrent of Portugese insults. Angela cringed at his angry expletives, even though she couldn't understand what he was saying. Paolo was spitting out a few too many _cadela_ and _idiota_ to be talking about rainbows and unicorns.

"Enough!" Tony roared. "Get outta here, or I'll make you."

"I am leaving for now. But this is not over, Angela Bower. It is not over." Paolo stormed off, the sand emanating in violent bursts behind his steps.

"Oh my god, Tony. What have we done?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Paolo's unforeseen appearance had the unfortunate result of creating a sense of friction between Tony and Angela, as well as ruining their pleasurable trip to the beach.

"The sooner you terminate your contract with him, the better," Tony advised Angela in a tone that made his feelings on the matter crystal clear. "Besides, you need your stuff back."

"What do you want me to do? March into his villa and demand my suitcase?"

"We'll go together."

"But Tony, what about our day of relaxation? Our beach day?" Angela asked him.

"I don't know about you, but I can't relax anymore. Not with Paolo breathin' down our necks. You gotta get rid of him, Angela. You gotta end things, sever all ties with that control freak." He noted Angela's look of consternation and tried to reassure her. "Hey, if we wanna go back to enjoying ourselves on the beach, you've gotta take care of this first."

Angela sat down on the beach chair and put her head in her hands. "I only wanted a little break from him first. The thought of dealing with him again today just … oh Tony, I don't want to see him," she complained. "Besides, I hate giving up my commercial. This is the pits." Angela looked out at the water, her expression wistful. "We were enjoying ourselves," she added.

"Yeah, that we were," he acknowledged with a fierce nod of his head. "And we're going to again. I promise you that. But I'm feeling really unsettled here." Tony sat down beside her and put his arm around her bare shoulders. He could feel that she was chilled despite the strong sunshine beating down on them. "I'm here for you, Angela." He uttered the words quietly but with conviction and squeezed her against him. "I'm with you in this."

"I know and I'm grateful," she replied, finally meeting his eyes. "But if it's alright with you, I'd prefer to deal with Paolo at the _Duro Maio_ headquarters. Returning to his villa bothers me … I don't want to." She shivered and snuggled closer to Tony's damp chest.

"Angela, did somethin' happen there? I mean besides the fact that Paolo wouldn't let you make a phone call or leave?"

"Uh …"

"Uh, what?" he probed.

"You know, it was probably just a misunderstanding because of cultural differences," she began. She sat up straight and nudged Tony's arm off her shoulders, her posture tense and rigid.

"What was? Just tell me."

Angela stood up and turned her back to Tony. She stared at the ocean when she spoke. "Paolo swims naked. I interrupted his swim to discuss the proposed merger papers and he …" she trailed off.

"And he what?" Tony stood up and came alongside her, mindful of her need for space.

"He came out of the pool."

"Naked?"

"Yes. Then I closed my eyes and threw him his towel. Afterwards, he told me that it was safe to look."

"And?"

"He was still naked. He wanted me to join him." Angela shuddered at the memory. She'd run back into the villa and locked herself in her bedroom, before Paolo had come looking for her. She still couldn't understand how he'd twisted her words and elicited an apology from her. She wondered why her brain only functioned at half-mast each time she argued with Paolo. A good comeback usually came to mind several hours later, but while in his presence, she lost the ability to defend herself against his accusations and explanations.

"I'm gonna kill him!" Tony said.

* * *

><p>When they returned to the hotel, Angela dressed herself in the same business outfit she'd worn the previous day. After brushing the sand off her feet and washing the scent of coconut sunscreen from her hands, putting on her work clothes felt a bit weird. She'd turned her vacation switch on, something she'd learned to do a couple of years ago in Mexico. Tony had taught her that—how to let go of work's worries and simply enjoy the moment. She hadn't, however, learned to make the smooth transition back. She felt frazzled, and the somersaults in her tummy weren't helping at all.<p>

"You almost ready?" Tony asked her through the bathroom door.

Angela stepped out of the bathroom, clearly unsettled. Tony noticed an almost imperceptible tremor in her hands.

"Hey," he said, "it's gonna be okay." He took her cold hands in his and gently stroked the back of them until they were steady and warm in his. Then he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and fixed his eyes on hers. "I'll be here every step of the way, okay?"

His warm, reassuring manner made Angela want to melt at his feet. Everything about Tony was so comforting and safe. She drew strength and courage from him, and when his hand touched her hair, invisible sparks flew between them, igniting last night's embers. Angela mirrored his movements and gently threaded her fingers through the hair above his left ear. It was still damp with seawater and he carried the scent of the outdoors on him. Her heart beat faster. "Tony, if you hadn't come to Brazil with me, I don't know what I would have done."

"I knew I had to come, Angela. I _knew_ Paolo was trouble from day one and I didn't want to see you get hurt. When he took you away to his house and I couldn't follow, I got scared. Can't believe that bastard exposed himself to you! When I think of how he treated you, it makes me wanna, wanna …"

"Want to what, Tony?"

"Beat the living daylights out of him!"

"Oh Tony, that's so sweet. You'd defend my honour."

"You bet. I'd do anything for you, Angela. Anything."

"I believe you."

They continued to gaze at each other, not breaking eye contact as they usually did. Their desire hung in the space between them, alive and vibrant. One would be hard pressed to determine who kissed whom, for their faces came together in sync, as though helped along by an invisible force. The still-warm embers ignited and blazed fiercely when their lips met. Stunned, they paused to step back. Their eyes, now half-lidded with passion met yet again. This time, Tony put his hands on Angela's shoulders and pulled her toward him. His kiss expressed all of the pent-up desire and longing that had built up within him over the years. She responded and yielded to her passion and love for him. For that moment, they were outside of time and space, existing only in each other. Their lips moved together as though designed for the other. Where he ended, she began. Only the woeful need for oxygen ended their kiss, leaving them gasping and taking deep, ragged breaths.

"Whoa," Tony muttered. He'd never experienced a kiss so raw and powerful in his entire life.

"Again," Angela whispered. "Kiss me again." Tony's kiss had reached the deepest essence of her being—a mingling of souls, not just mouths. She felt trembly all over and her skin prickled with excitement. She wound her arms around his neck and tilted her head back. Tony kissed her again and again for what seemed like an eternity that was too short.

"I could keep kissing you all afternoon," Tony murmured into her ear between kisses.

"Sounds wonderful," she said with a soft sigh.

"But we have to go."

"Go where? We're already in the bedroom." Her legs felt ready to collapse and she inched backwards toward the bed, lips still attached to Tony's. When he abruptly ended the kiss, she stood bereft and confused. "What's wrong?" She collapsed heavily onto the edge of the bed feeling somewhat abandoned. "Tony? Is everything alright?"

"It will be, Angela. It will be, as soon as we take care of business. We really need to do that today." He hated breaking their kiss, but he also knew where that kiss was leading, and he wasn't ready to go that far with her yet, especially with something so dire hanging over her head. "Let's deal with Paolo now, so that later we can, ahem, we can, er … continue _this_."

"Oh."

"It's the best way."

"I know. It's just that your kiss—it made me forget about everything. I lost myself to it," she admitted, suddenly feeling shy.

"I was lost right there with you." Tony smiled and held out his hand to her, then pulled her up to stand before him. He placed one final tender kiss on her mouth and held her close. "This bedroom will be waiting for us when we're done taking care of business."

Angela just stared at him, absorbing the implicit promise in his words. She nodded at him and squeezed his hand for strength. "Alright, let's get this over with."


End file.
